


A Stranger In A Strange Land

by Inferno_the_dragon_lord



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adan Can't Catch a Break, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An argonian in Thedas, Apperantly everything, Depictions of violance, Depictions of violance against humans now too, Fade Demons, Fade Spirits, For now atleast, Implied/Referenced Slavery, It's against Fade demons though, M/M, Magic, Modded Skyrim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn...maybe, no beta we die like men, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inferno_the_dragon_lord/pseuds/Inferno_the_dragon_lord
Summary: The Devines had a sick sense of humor.Malik Nagtus just wanted to spend the rest of his days in Skyrim, far away from all of his problems. Then he made a mistake when crossing the border, sent to get his head chopped off without a trial. But Alduin attacked, setting off the events that made him into the doom driven hero of Nord fairytales.Only...He never wanted to be the Dragonborn. Never wanted to fight Alduin, or Harkon, or Miraak, or other power-crazed maniacs and self-proclaimed gods. Never wanted to get involved with Deadra. Never wanted to become a guild master to practically every major guild in Skyrim. Never wanted to have to save Skyrim, or Tamriel, over and over and over again.But the devines had it in for him. Or some Deadra was having a laugh at his expense.And now, as he kneeled in a cold dungeon, surrounded by soldiers who viewed him as a Daedra from deepest pits of Oblivion, restrained and with a magically marked hand slowly killing him, he tried to think if a reason why the Devines were so angry with him.He soon realized the list was long. And only destined to get longer by the way things were going.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Cullen Rutherford, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Cullen Rutherford/Dorian Pavus, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 24
Kudos: 123





	1. He Told Me: This Will Be Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp...I have horrible self-control and can't finish my other books sooo, here's a new one. Į recently replayed DA:I and just stared a new playtrough of a modded Skyrim soooo yeah, hope someone likes this thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it turned out to be anything but simple.

It was the early morning when Brinjolf had finally gone back to the Thieves guild, tired but content with a pouch full of gold after a good night's work. He waved at Rune as he passed him training with Karliah. The Dunmer was easy to spot as she always wore her Nightingale armor, unlike him; he went back to his guild leather, and the guild master, who never changed out of his Daedric armor.

Speaking of the lizard, Brinjolf wasn't even surprised to find him exactly where he had left him when he went out in the evening — standing behind the guild master desk and going over plans like it was the most important thing in the world, stacks of papers surrounding him; a small dent in the backlog of client's and guild affiliated paperwork Mercer had left behind. He casually strolled over to him, tossing the guild's share of the profit on the table.

"You look tired, lad."

Malik didn't show any outward reaction when the coin pouch hit the table despite being a warrior longer than Brynjolf had been alive, didn't even dignify him enough to look at him. He didn't move at all. But that was nothing new; nothing surprising when he was in this state. He was like a statue — leaning over the desk, both hands firmly planted on the wood where his claw tips almost perfectly slotted into the little notches that had formed over time. "You don't say." He muttered, the rumble in the back of his throat hiding any hint of a yawn that threatened to escape his maw. "Real news to me."

Brynjolf frowned as he crossed his arms, looking at the guild master with a mixture of annoyance at his stubborn nature and worry at the near self-destructive behavior. Could you blame him? Where Mercer had done the bare minimum the last few years of him being guild master — not talking to the others, shirking most of his duties to Delvin, and stealing from the most stupid of people. Malik did the opposite —helping them train in archery or combat, going along to the most challenging jobs with the newer thieves to show them the roles, and burying himself into work until half the guild had to pry him off the desk and into a damned bed. And that only worked half the time. "I'm serious lad." He sighed. "Have you slept a wink since you came back?"

Judging by the eye patch that had been tossed without much thought and was now precariously balancing on the corner of the table, chances were he hadn't slept a wink.

By the Nine, that was three days ago.

Malik mimicked the sigh, slowly looking up from his work to blankly stare at his friend.

He looked bad, and that was saying something. His usually vibrant black scales were offset by patches of discoloration and freshly healing scar tissue. Brynjolf counted 5 more nubs like horns beginning to grow from his snout and 3 on each side of his jaw, the scales around them cracked to expose pinkish and irritated skin. Not even the bright war paint was able to hide the bags under his eyes, nor the way his whole face tensed up whenever he was forced to blink as if even the low lighting of the guild caused him pain.

"You look like shit," Brynjolf stated, smirking when Malik chuckled, lips pulling back enough for light to glint off his sharp teeth.

"You smell like it." He countered innocently as he tilted his head side to side, his neck audibly creaking as he looked back down to his papers. Malik's retorts usually had far more bite in them, often accompanied by more than one insult and the occasional degrading of a man's mother.

Shit, what had happened in his last adventure?

"It's the eye again, eh?" Brynjolf uncrossed his arms, worry now fully plastered on his face.

Malik grunted, hand subconsciously rising to rub his left eye, or the permanently closed socket where an eye once resided, now just a bitter memory of the sacrifice he had to make to defeat Alduin. "My head merely aches, that is all."

"Your head shouldn't 'ache'-" Brynjolf air quoted with the face of an unimpressed mother, "-for three days straight lad," Brynjolf stated plainly, lacking the patience to let Malik continue to burrow himself into work until he either passed out or had nothing left to do.

Malik scoffed and straightened up, looking down at Brynjolf, who now had to crane his neck to look him in the eye. "You got something for me?" He questioned.

"Yeah," Brynjolf grunted and pulled out a scroll from his pocket. "Don't change the subject." The man frowned as he handed him the letter.

"I am merely concentrating on my duty as a guild master." His tone was almost as dull as his scaled hyde, and Brinjolf had half the mind to get Karliah and Rune to pull Malik away from his papers.

Brynjolf scoffed, "More like avoiding a certain conversation." The man was about to cross his arms again, but he stopped and, remembering what was written in the letter, picked up the eye patch before it fell off. "You know this thing isn't safe." He held up the offending patch by the string hooked around a finger, that little contact causing tingles to run up his entire arm from the enchantment.

Gods only knew what that had to feel around someone's head.

But Malik didn't show any signs of having listened to him. Just stood there, staring at the paper for a few minutes. Brynjolf wasn't the least bit surprised that the table jerked forward when Malik's tail collided with it, somehow managing not to knock down the stacks of papers on it.

Instead, he was treated to a front-row seat of his guild master's expression going from calm and collected control to thinly veiled hate that would have made a dragon drop from the sky.

Malik growled and crumpled the letter into a ball, a low whistle escaping through the gaps of his triangle-like teeth.

Almost immediately Brynjolf heard Malik's pet grumble. He turned his head to see Obsidian head over to them, fiery eyes looking between both of them with an almost childlike curiosity. Brynjolf gently patted the burned sabrecat's fiery mane when he came to sit next to him, receiving a gentle rumble in exchange. But he quickly retracted his hand when Malik cleared his throat. 

"Obsidian, burn this," Malik commanded and tossed the paper ball in the cat's direction. The ball didn't even manage to land, burning to ash in mid-air when it got close to the consuming flames around the cat's neck.   
"You could have used a fire spell," Brynjolf stated, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead from the sudden heatwave.

"Waste of Magicka." Malik snorted through his nose, "That noble is getting on my nerves." He growled, his only eye shining like dragon fire in the dim light. "That's the third time this week that he's tried this." He rumbled, starting to mutter curses under his breath in various languages.

"To be fair," Brinjolf started, "it's a lot of Septims for a simple burglary job lad," Brynjolf argued, absentmindedly rubbing Obsidian behind a badly burned ear. The flames licked at his fingers, their touch cool, like running your fingers through a stream, instead of burning as it had been moments ago.

"That 'simple job'." Malik all but growled, "Is probably the most obvious set up I have ever seen." He rubbed his intact eye. "I mean, break into a noble's house to steal an Elder Scroll?" He asked in bewilderment, spreading his arms out for emphasis. "I'd sooner believe he wants me to get Tiber Septim's royal piss pot!" His arms dropped to his sides, 

"Who knows, maybe he's going to want that too?" Brynjolf shrugged. Sure, it didn't sound real, but this noble was offering a lot of Septims, that Brynjolf had seen with his own eyes no less — much to Malik's displeasure.  
"Absolutely not." Malik barked an order as he shook his head, giving Brynjolf one of his signature glares. The type of glare they only got if they did something incredibly stupid and even Vex would shrink under when it was directed at her. Which wasn't as often as it had been when Mercer was in charge. "You are not pawns. I refuse to send one of you into a place you might not return from."

"And yet you delve into crypts and Daedric realms every Sundas." Brynjolf countered, motioning to the bandages he could see peaking beneath his armor.

"I face death and dismemberment daily." Malik shot back, eye narrowed and just the barest hint of the Thu'um in his voice — enough for Brynjolf to feel it vibrate through his bones, something that had most men running to their mothers — "You do not." 

"But you know this man isn't going to stop until he gets what he wants, right?" Brynjolf had to hand it to the noble, some distant associate of Maven's, no matter how much Malik told him to go away, insulted, belittled, and disrespected the noble, the old bastard would return it in kind and then turn around and offer an even bigger sum of coins for the Guild's services. He even managed to make Malik throw a few threats at him by sending the head of a particularly annoying messenger back to the noble, but the noble just wouldn't let up.

Malik's chest visibly expanded underneath his armor as he took a deep breath in, leveling his bright amber gaze with Brynjolf's own.

Just daring him to oppose him. 

Brynjolf didn't back down, crossing his arms over his chest.

Which, certainly wasn't something many people did when faced with what was essentially a downsized dragon with the penchant of burning his enemies to a crisp and hacking them up with a sword.

And it showed.

It only took a few seconds before Malik looked away, releasing the breath he had been holding in as his whole body seemed to slump down into himself.

Brynjolf's lip quirked upwards into a smirk, he won.

"Fine," Malik growled and went around the table, shoulders hunched and tail lashing back and forth. "But—" He pointed at him, like a displeased parent. "I'll go check it out, you, Vex, and Delvin are in charge while I'm gone." He held out his palm expectantly.

Of course.

Brynjolf shook his head and handed over the eye patch, "You be careful now lad." He warned, watching Malik pull on the piece of enchanted fabric over his damaged eye, tying it around one of his large horns.

"Yes, mother." Malik rolled his only eye, grinning like a child, albeit with a lot more teeth. "You are beginning to sound like Karliah." His tone was teasing, chuckling when an annoyed 'Oi' sounded from the other side of the room.

"If Karliah's bothering you, it's probably because you're doing something reckless lad." Brinjolf started, but Karliah's voice cut him off.

"-Or he's being a moron!" Karliah stated, her voice almost melodic as it echoed through the chamber before she returned to training Rune in archery.

That lizard's grin fell when he saw the sincerity in the man's eyes, sighing he placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine, my friends." He glanced over to scan over the area, eye lingering on every member in the Cistern that was currently making themselves busy— or making themselves look busy— they were thieves after all, keeping an ear to the ground and prying into conversations was how they got what they wanted. "All of you. Take care of yourselves. Dii Fahdon."

And with that, he was off, Deadric helmet reappearing to protect his face and a flaming sabrecat hot on his heel. 

* * *

  
  
"Keep up, dwarf." Varric huffed as he scrambled to climb up the scorched debris that littered the field he currently found himself in, wondering how everything had gone to arch-demon-shaped shit.

It was supposed to be a peace talk between the Templars and Mages, which he had been forced to attend by a very insistent Seeker with a short fuse and a stick up her ass. Everything had been going okay, no one had been turned into an icicle or hacked to death, which was more than he had expected from the two sides. Sure, they were getting a little stir crazy while waiting for the Devine, but that was almost expected. Varric and the Seeker had gone to a nearby outpost to wait for the Devine.

Then the bloody Temple exploded like an unsupervised barrel of mead, killing...he didn't even know how many people, tearing a gigantic hole in the sky that was spewing demons out of it.

He was ready to jump ship there and then, but the Seeker was very persuasive with her sword, so here he was, ass deep in burnt rubble as he, the Seeker, and a party of soldiers tried to find any kind of survivors and more importantly, the Devine.

"A little sympathy Seeker," He bit back, trudging along with the rest of the group.

He nearly collided with a soldier in front of him when the man suddenly stopped. "What now?" He asked, gripping Bianca tightly in his grip.

"Lady Cassandra-" The man motioned to the distance, "- I see someone, ser."

Varric leaned around him and, yep, he could see someone tall and lanky as they searched through the rubble as if possessed. Fuck knew what they were expecting to find in the middle of a field that looked like it had been scorched by an arch-demon. "Friend of yours, Seeker?" He asked.

"No." The woman stated as she pulled out her sword, quickly going towards them along with the soldiers. Varric groaned and rushed after them.

He managed to catch up with them in time to hear the Seeker demand to know who the stranger was. "Who are you?" The woman questioned, and Varric was now able to tell that the man was an elf, albeit a strange one— no face tattoos to be from a tribe, and not emaciated enough to have been someone's slave, not afraid of soldiers to have been in a circle either.

"I am Solas." He answered quickly, chucking what looked like a burnt cup back into the rubble to hold his hands up to show he had no ill will. "I was here when the temple exploded," Solas said, motioning with one hand to the field. "I hoped I might be able to find any survivors." He explained.

Varric looked around the decimated ground, littered by bodies flash-frozen from the sudden blast and charred rubble. "Doubt you'd find anyone out here," Varric commented, getting a glare from the Seeker. "What? Just saying what we're all thinking." He shrugged.

The elf cleared his throat, "And who might you be?" He asked.

"Varric Tethras," He motioned to himself, "Adventurer and storyteller." He introduced himself as he set Bianca on his back.

The Seeker looked at the man suspiciously, before she lowered her sword. "And I am—"

_**KREN WAH LEIN** _

The ground trembled beneath their feet as if an earthquake was happening right beneath them. Varric toppled over as he heard some scout scream "What's happening?!" as they all scrambled to hold on to something.

 _ **KREN WAH LEIN**_  
He looked up just as a brilliant yellow light shined through the gaping green hole in the sky. Streams of yellow spread across the sky like a spider web of shattered glass, the wind howled in Varric's ears as if in the middle of a monstrous blizzard. Magic was gathering in the Breach, yellow and bright, growing bigger with every second. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sound echoing all around them sounded like a voice, but no one could cause the ground to tremble with their voice!

_**KREN VAH LEIN** _

Varric watched that hole in the sky spit something out, a large yellow ball, like one of a demon. It whizzed across the sky, crashing to the ground somewhere not far from them.

A shockwave of energy exploded as the ball crashed, and Varric felt it go through him, shocking every last part of him as if he'd been hit with thunder. The rushing wind followed suit, blowing ash into his eyes as he heard Solas shout. The elf doubled over next to him, clutching his head in pain. He shielded his face, trying to clean his eyes.

Everything was still and quiet for who knows how long. When the ground had stopped shaking and his legs felt like they were able to support him, he groggily stood up and looked around. Everything looked the same, and he was still alive. He could see something smoldering where, whatever that was, had fallen from the Breach. A Breach that now looked even bigger and greener than it had been previously.

"Everyone alive?" He asked, helping Solas up as the rest of their little group got back to their feet. "What's up with you?"

"That magic." The elf breathed, still clutching his head with one hand as he leaned heavily on Varric. "I haven't seen anything like that..." His voice cut off as he sneered in pain, digging his fingers into Varric's shoulder in an iron-like grip. One of those soldiers moved up to shoulder the elf, leaving Varric to roll his shoulder in an attempt to get circulation back into it.

He looked at the Seeker as she stumbled to her feet, looking around with a sword at the ready. "I-"

"—Lady Pentaghast!" Varric turned around to the source of the sound to find it to be a soldier, standing near the hold where the thing from the sky had fallen. "You need to look at this."

* * *

  
Solas strolled down the steep steps down into the dungeon, followed closely by a few guards and the resident apothecary. The Seeker and her friend were already in the room where the cot was. He came to calmly stand next to them, using his staff to support his weight as he watched the seven soldiers struggle to bring down the thing on a stretcher, their arms shaking from the duress and flinching like rabbits every time the strange create breathed. They finally managed to bring it and roll it onto the cot, and Adan had to awkwardly reach around the large body that laid before him. 

"What is that thing, apostate?" Leliana asked him, observing the creature. From what he could gather, she had been informed of the magic shockwave, which had caused great pain to every mage in the area.

"A demon, must be." The Seeker spoke without looking at him, her eyes fixed on the creature that laid before them. "Is there even a demon that could do...that?" She questioned, silently reminding of that explosion of energy.

Solas observed the creature, sighing as the headache returned to the forefront of his thoughts like a persistent leech. At first, one might think it to be Qunari— twice the size of a normal man, several times heavier, and clad in armor as dark as the night, with what could be described as dragon-like skulls strapped to each shoulder pad and horns protruding from beneath the helmet. But then they would notice other features — the large black scaled tail currently laying flat on the floor between two distinctly inhuman feet, looking more at home on a beast, with only three toes on each foot, and one of those toes being a long claw.  
In all sense of the word, this thing looked like a demon.

The fact it fell from the sky in a ball of flaming light and made the Breach bigger in the process didn't help it much.

But it didn't feel like a demon. It felt like... Something much older and much wilder, timeless and limitless even, but certainly not demonic — something similar to the Evanuris. No demon could cause such a surge of magical energy to bring him to his knees, even in his weakened state, not even they could.

This magic was foreign, and so was the creature.

"It is not a demon, that much I can say." He looked back at the two women, "Demons are not able to use such a large amount of Magic, especially out of the fade." He turned to watch as Adan struggled with the armor. "But I cannot say of its true origins."

The left hand suddenly flashed a bright green, bringing a surprised curse out of Adan, and an unconscious grunt from the strange creature.

Please let it not be what he thinks it is...

"But," He continued, "That mark on their hand reflects the Breach." He turned back to her and folded his arms behind his back, standing tall. "Perhaps they are connected. It might be the key to closing the Breach. I will try to keep it alive until it wakes, then you can do with it as you wish."

The Seeker gave a nod, apparently satisfied with his answer, and turned to her heel, the red-haired woman following after her. Some of the guards left with them, but a few stayed, looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here.

Solas shook his head and circled the creature, much like a wolf would do its prey. The irony wasn't lost on him, but he held back the chuckle. "It looks in decent health." He noted that what blood was on the white coat had washed off the armor and that the stains weren't getting any bigger.

"How decent does a body look after it's fallen out of the sky to you?" Adam grumbled and glared at him, much to Solas's amusement. Adam sighed and grabbed one of its hands, so large that it could a man's skull in it, "Won't know for sure until we get this armor off." Adan struggled with the gauntlet on the left hand, reeling back as some enchantment causing the armor to shimmer for a second. "And it doesn't look like it's coming off anytime soon." He grunted, holding his hand as if it had been struck by lightning.

"That must be a powerful enchantment for it to act that way." In truth, Solas had never seen anything like that, an armor set that hurt the one trying to take it off? Wouldn't that just hurt the wearer after a battle?

The green mark flared up suddenly, tearing a grunt from the body, forcing it to convulse. It's other hand shot out, breaking the chain in the process of shooting an ice spell.

It nearly hit one of the guards, the boy managing to duck out of the way before it hit him face first. The ice spell collided with the wall, covering a small circle like surface area with ice. 

Solas and Adan looked at each other, surprised at the power of the spell. "Whatever this thing is," Adan started, wide-eyed. "We better get the mark under control before it kills someone." Solas agreed, and the two began to work.

Solas was curious, what was this thing? And how did it have such an aptitude for magic even though it looked like a warrior? No mage even had such an aptitude for magic as this thing had demonstrated.

Later, when this creature was stable, he would slip into the Fade, ask Wisdom and Knowledge if they knew of something like this.  


* * *

  
Malik grunted when the mark on his hand crackled with green light as if he had just produced a faulty sparks spell. He clenched his fist and jerked in the metal shackles, which only seemed to make the pain worse. His black scales tingled while the skin underneath burned. He looked down at his hand, could almost see the magic tearing apart his palm underneath the Daedric armor.

It felt like he had just shoved his hand into the Sky Forge...and then pushed it up an ice Atronach's arse.

Which was to say it felt worse than the rest of his body, fuck; had he gotten drunk on aged, piss tasting, wine with Paarthurnax and fallen off Snow Throat again? He really didn't want to get another talking to from the Greybeards, least of all his companion.

"Da-argh..." He began to curse, but bit it off midway, leaving the sound to rumble out of his throat with a low hiss.

The sound made the men inch just a tad closer with their weapons.

Worse still, he was stuck in this dungeon with jumpy soldiers a sword swing away. Even he was smart enough to know using magic to lessen the pain would have been a bad idea, but the thought of using magic had his fingers twitching.

Those shackles were a joke, even with his legs and arms chained to the floor in the heaviest chains they could find — he could come up with a thousand ways to break them, but the soldiers...

He...

There were 8 of them, trivial at best. Wouldn't even take 5 minutes.

He...

He eyed the men surrounding him — They were Imperials by the looks of it, young too; most between the ages of 20 to 30. But... They didn't wear Imperial armor. No, instead they donned what looked like steel armor with light yellowish padding covering most of their body —scouts if he had to guess, but the troubling thing Malik was the lack of a recognizable emblem.

The most he could recognize was a sun-like sigil on the floor beneath him. It reminded him of that banner he had seen of the Mythic Dawn... But this one didn't match the one in that museum in Dawnstar, and swords weren't really Dagon's thing.

He narrowed his eye and glanced back at the soldiers — some of them were trained in a rush. His amber gaze went from one sword to another as they lightly trembled in the grasp of the younger ones, their stance was shoddy, too loose of a grip on their weapons and too afraid to focus on their current objective — they flinched like rabbits at every breath he took while others, while unnerved, held a determined hatred in their eyes... Directed straight at him like he was some dragon-sized rat.

Wonder what he did to get them so angry with him...

The door slammed open, and light was cast over him.

He looked up, in the doorway stood two women by the looks of it.

The soldiers sheathed their swords as the Imperial woman came into the room — it took all of a few seconds for Malik to realize she was a warrior; the way she held herself, shoulders tense and hand on her sword; the way she held herself, a warrior confident in their abilities, yet cautious at a new obstacle; not to mention the heavy metal armor she wore... An armor bearing the symbol of an eye...

Great, more things he didn't recognize.

The other woman followed after her, a slender thing that had him on a razor's edge; the way she wasn't fully in the mindset of a civilian, partly sticking to the shadows, face stone cold and eyes unreadable. He knew an assassin when he saw one, and this one almost fit the description, but the armor was impractical, so a spy perhaps?

The warrior woman slowly circled him, passing into his blindside. While he couldn't _see_ her, he could see her life force through his eyepatch, keeping track of her as she circled behind him.

She leaned down over his shoulder, on the side where his amber eye could see her. A low growl slipped past his lips as the beast inside announced its displeasure, made him jerk slightly — the chains rattle echoing through the cell.

She didn't flinch, didn't react. And then she began to speak.

But the words made little sense, not even sounding like a coherent language but more like a garbled sound a mud crab made, like he was speaking to a Riekling, but worse.

Oh, why hadn't he learned that communication spell for these types of situations?

He watched her talk, watched her walk around him, staring him down, sizing him up — still talking in a language he couldn't understand, the sound grating on his ears — to stand in front of him.

Oh right — because the spell came from Hermaus Mora. That's why.

The woman cleared her throat, and he looked up. She looked at him with a scowl, expecting him to respond. But how could he respond when he didn't know the language? This didn't sound like anything from Tamriel or it's surrounding landmasses... Fuck it, if a Riekling could understand him and even learn to speak Nordic and Cyrodiliic, how bad could this be?

Here goes nothing.

His throat hurt as he tried to speak, as if he had downed a barrel of sand. "Where is my friend?" — Right, because his Obsidian came first, wherever he ended up — "And why am I in chains?" He kept his voice calm yet strict, straight to the point without tapping into the Thu'um. No point in making them more suspicious of him. "I committed no crime." He stated, rattling the metal around his wrists for emphasis.

The women turned to each other, confused looks on their faces as they both looked back at him. It became obvious that they understood as much of him, as he did of them.

Great.

So now he was at an impasse, break his way out, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, and try to blindly search for his friend... Or wait and go along with his captors' wishes. They had taken his gear, but he wasn't too worried about that, his pack was enchanted, and so were his weapons. But...

He looked up when the woman spoke again as she got closer. Her soldiers uncheated their weapons, aiming at him. Either she was going to take him somewhere, or he had to jump ship and fast.

A sigh and a growl mixed in the back of his throat, something he hoped conveyed his displeasure and didn't give them the initiative to poke holes into him. He did not move, just watched her as she came up to him, her companion moving around to his back.

The warrior woman knelt and reached for his bindings, eyeing him carefully as she spoke something to her companion.

All he did in response was a snort, his hot breath escaping from the parts of his helmet in a stream of hot air. He side-eyed the other woman as she slowly unlocked one shackle around his leg, letting the heavy piece of metal fall to the ground.

The crash of metal to the ground made the soldiers inch closer, swords glinting in the light. Would have made an intimidating sight, had said weapons not trembled in their grip. He snorted at the sight, lightly flexing his free leg as the spy moved around to his other side and did the same with the other leg.

With his legs free, the woman took a step back into his blind spot, he could see her hand stay by her hip. His hackles raised with the shiver as it raced up his spine;

But he stayed put and turned his gaze to the warrior, watching her unlock the shackles that bound him to the ground. Yet a heavy chain still bound his wrists together, not tight enough to hurt him, yet he couldn't help the mild panic that threatened to overtake him, flashes of times long past creeping into his mind.

He closed his eye and took in a heavy breath, letting it roll around his chest. He stood up slowly, his bones popped and armor rattled softly, clawed feet gripping the stone floor while his toe-claws flexed from having been in an uncomfortable position for so long, the damaged muscle around them sending a mild shock of pain up his body.

He towered over everyone in the room, yet he noticed that the people here were shorter than most Nords or Imperials, the men barely coming up to his chest, the woman even shorter than that. He looked down at the woman, arms held in the same position as they had been when he was chained. The woman didn't wait for anything, tying a rope around his chains.

Normally, he would have just torn off the shackles or burned both the rope and metal with a flame spell, but these were unusual circumstances.

So he let the woman grab him and push him up the stairs that were too narrow to fully step on, leaving him to stumble a few times. As they reached the top, a soldier opened the door for them. He leaned down to get through, finding that his horns still caught the door frame, briefly making him wonder how in Oblivion they had gotten him in here.

The scowling woman grabbed him by the bracer and forcefully dragged him down the large hall. He kept his head held high and shoulders back, each step thundering down the hall with his full weight to give him an intimidating presence; all to hide his cautious gaze.

A young man's voice echoed through the hall, a twisted scream of fear so thick he could taste it. Malik's head snapped to where he thought the noise had come from, watching an old woman silence the youth. His single eye met the man's, and the young one began to tremble as he scrambled to hide behind the woman. Malik scowled as the people in strange priest-like robes, most of them women, shrunk back from him, hid in the safety of the shadows, and clung close to the walls, the old priestesses shielding the younger ones from him, pointing and staring and talking and praying in hushed whispers.

No words needed to understand what they were talking about.

More guards opened large doors for them, letting the light in. His scales crawled when a cold blizzard hit him, so familiar to the harsh winds of Skyrim. He surveyed the area, what small piece of hope he had dying with every house he saw, none of them built in the style of the Nords — wherever he was, this wasn't a hold he was familiar with, and it certainly wasn't a bandit camp.

His hand suddenly flared up with green light, pain traveling up like lightning up his entire arm. "Damn!" He growled and sneered a curse at the Devines, claws digging into frozen earth and body hunching into himself, holding his pain-stricken hand close to his chest. But the pain passed almost as quickly as it had come.

The woman, who looked like an Imperial in the light; brown hair cut short for convenience, brown eyes hardened by years of training, a long scar stretching across her cheek — grabbed him by the hand and yanked it up between them, saying something he could only guess was some type of explanation.

She pointed into the sky and... Devines!

There in the sky was a massive — a massive hole; glowing a sickly green and white like a portal of an invading Daedric Prince, tendrils of green light stretched across the sky that now looked more like cracked ice.

His hand sparked again with the same green light and — oh.

 _Oh_.

Realization dawned on the Argonian, the mark was identical to the one in the sky. The dirty looks and fearful attitude all made sense, they thought he was a Daedric invader, sent by the one responsible for the hole in the sky...though that didn't explain why nobody spoke Cryodiilic. The woman spoke to him again, reaching for her dagger.

But she stopped midway, hand resting on the hilt. A warning maybe? Or a threat.

Malik eyed her wearily, tilting his head slightly in the stead of words. What do you want?

She looked at her like she was expecting an answer he was unable to provide. The woman scowled and grabbed his hand, pointing at the hole in the sky.

Then it hit him like an avalanche.

Oh no...

They wanted him to deal with it.

Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2021/01/21 EDIT: Edited the chapter since I didn't like some parts of it.
> 
> kren way lein - made up a shout, means break to world. I like to think it's a shout that acts as a way to go through two different planes of reality, like a doorway between Mundus and a drastic realm for example.


	2. They Told Me: Fix This Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But they did not ask if I could.

Malik paid little attention to his surroundings as the woman lead him through the small village, too preoccupied with trying not to show how much his hand bothered him. Over the past 20 minutes, he could feel the magic in his hand seep further into his being, dig its roots deep into his muscle, no longer content with only being skin deep.

The pain in his hand was getting worse.

It was like a Chaurus was trying to munch on it, bitting down to the bone every few seconds with knife-sharp mandibles, it's venom seeping into his bloodstream, poisoning every bit of his body.

Honestly, Malik would have preferred _that_ over the magic. You can chop off the head of a Chaurus, can't do the same to his arm, not unless he fancied being a cripple.

He felt something hit his side with a metallic 'thump,' so insignificant it was a wonder he noticed it. He heard it drop to the ground now that it had successfully brought him out of his thoughts.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at his side, then dropped his gaze down at the ground. He wasn't sure if the small pebble lying at his feet surprised, amused, or enraged him. By all accounts, no one has thrown a bloody stone at him since he was but a hatchling with a chain around his neck. But that was a long time ago, he had torn off his chains, bitten off the hands that fed him lies and now he was big and strong — a legendary warrior — so who could be so audacious, so stupid, so brave; as to do so now? He looked up, searching for the culprit.

A small Nord child, couldn't have been older than nine winters —dirty blond hair, sky blue eyes, pale skin, swaddled in layers of furs to keep warm— stood between two tents, seemingly frozen solid in time, arm raised to throw another pebble like he didn't think he would elicit a reaction, much less get the big scary reptile to look at him. His eyes met Malik's own; all his bravado washed away as he began to tremble like a leaf in the wind, the pebble forgotten as it fell out of the child's grasp into the snow below.

Looked just like his little—

Malik grunted and flicked his tail, sending the pebble back the way it came to land at the child's' feet, who spooked like a rabbit that saw the wolf in the bushes.

The air in the camp became so heavy he could have cut it with a knife, he felt more than saw the warrior woman in front of him tense up.

There came a sound, yelling, screaming perhaps? Or maybe a snide remark. He couldn't tell.  
He watched as the parents rushed over to the child, the mother falling to her knees to hide the child in her skirt ruffles who in turn clung to her like a lifeline, the wind making the cries and hiccups of the child ring in his ears, all the while the father stood in front of them both, putting himself between him and them. He didn't look like a fighter, more of a farmer than anything else, making himself look big despite the way his whole body shook, making a piss poor attempt in making himself look intimidating.

Fear, Malik realized with a frown. They feared him.

Fear from his enemies was a welcome sight; it meant they knew he was stronger than them, knew that they had chosen poorly, knew who would die, but this was a child for the love of Akatosh...

The _child_ feared him.

Not even he was that _monstrous_ a creäture.

The woman said something and tugged on the chain cuffed to his hands, urging him to move. "Rude." He muttered and shook his head, allowing the woman to drag him wherever she wanted.

He threw a look over his shoulder to watch the parents scold their crying child before the gates closed.  
He followed the woman out of the village, keeping pace with her as they crossed a stone bridge. It was colder now that there were no walls to block out the wind, allowing the wind free range to lick his scales underneath his armor with an icy tongue. But it was nothing compared to the blizzards in Skyrim, maybe similar to being in the peaks of Skyrim during summer.

 _Nothing_ compared to the winds of Coldharbour.

Pain flared up in his hand, so strong it nearly brought him to his knees.

He hissed a curse at the Devines, clutching his hand as close to his own chest as the bindings allowed. The magic was getting stronger, consuming more of him like an angry beast. He glanced up, seeing the green hole in the sky pulse in tune with his hand.

Damn.

The woman spoke something, but Malik still had no clue what it meant, helping to steady him back on his feet when the pain passed with a gloved hand. Her other still stayed on the hilt of her sword.

Once he was back on his feet, the woman showed him forward, saying something that he assumed meant that he had to move. As they walked, Malik looked up at the sky, wondering one thing:

_What in Oblivion could have made that?_

A few creatures sprang to mind, Molag Bal and Mahrunes Dagon being the prime contenders. But the lack of lesser Daedra and Oblivion gates made him reconsider Dagon, and half the land would have been torn asunder with re-animated corpses everywhere had Molag Bal been the cause of this. Could it be something he hadn't encountered before — A new threat that rose from yet another crypt or plane of Oblivion?

As they traveled via a second bridge, Malik kept his eyes ahead of him. He searched for familiar faces, both alive and dead, but didn't know if the bubbling feeling in his chest when he didn't recognize anyone was associated with relief or furry. This far into the cold, he would have expected to find a Companion or an agent of the Brotherhood, yet he saw no one. As he looked around, he saw something coming at them from his peripheral vision. Within seconds, the green projectile hit the bridge they were on, causing it to collapse.

Malik cursed as he tumbled down and hit the ground with a grunt. Pain flared through his hand as the Imperial shouted something — probably an order to stand up — and shot up herself. She grabbed her sword and shield and flung herself at what looked like a sick form of Daedra, its body twisted and deformed in a vaguely humanoid shape, emaciated like a Draugr, but lacking any facial features other than a massive gaping maw.  
Malik scrambled to his feet and cast a flame spell. The shackles were made of shoddy iron and softened enough for him to break free after a few seconds, his gauntlets protecting him from the hot metal. He looked around for a weapon until he saw some crates near the rubble, with a sword having fallen near it, nothing special about it, looked like a standard steel sword. But it would do for now.

He didn't waste any time, hurrying over and grabbing the weapon while readying an Incinerate spell despite the pain in his hand. The worming magic seemed to disagree with his own Magicka, like a parasite exposed to salt would dig deeper into the body so did he feel it worming deeper into his palm. He turned as another of those twisted Daedra conjured behind him with an ear piercings screech. He swung the sword without thinking, chopping off one of its arms with one fell swoop. The limb fell limply to the ground, and he could not see any bones or muscles on the inside of the Daedra as it screeched and swung its claws in retaliation, but all it did was leave a scratch on his armor.

And left it wide _open_.

Stabbing his sword right through the chest of the monster he brought up his other hand to the things' head, so close that bits of flesh began to melt onto his hand and released the built-up spell.

Malik reeled back as the things' head exploded, splattering something on him, some green-ish black fluid. He glanced up to see the woman finish off the other Daedra, his mind calming down once he saw no other threats. "Disgusting," Malik growled, trying to brush off the fluids from his armor, but it stubbornly clung to him like the webs of frostbite spiders. It stunk to high Oblivion too, probably up there in the top 5 most disgusting things he never wanted to get on him again, close in second to slightly stale butter and _mammoth_ bile.

He felt his hand tingle and looked down to see the creature disappear in bits of green light, like the scales and flesh of a Dovah would burn off when he slew one. The power that bound them, invisible to the naked eye yet obvious to an anti mage, seeped into his hand, feeling similar to what consuming a Dovah soul felt like, but twisted in some way.

The woman spoke something and rushed over to him, sword poised to strike. She was smart too, not aiming it to his throat as those rarely found their mark on taller foes; instead keeping it around the level of his stomach.  
Normally, he would not have hesitated to kill her for such an act of violence, wouldn't have even had a second thought about it too... but this was far from normal, even for him. That didn't mean he would discard his weapon and become a helpless sheep though, no matter how brittle the steel felt after a real fight.

He growled and very slowly sheathed his sword and raised his hands into the air. His priority was finding Obsidian and going home, no need for more senseless bloodshed.

Seconds passed with them like this — with him standing still and her probably questioning if this was a trick. Surely no one as bloodthirsty as him would stand down to someone half of his size? Malik could almost see the thought process behind her eyes, a runaway thought wondering if he had silently voiced what was running through her mind... _Oh, give him a break_...He sighed and slowly pointed at the hole in the sky, then at his hand, hoping she would understand...something.

Her eyebrows furrowed together, and her small nose scrunched up as if she was thinking. She groaned and sheathed her sword, taking a few steps back and much more guarded than she had been before, but she nodded.

So she trusts me to watch her back? Or does she think there are bigger threats than me? Malik wondered, urging her to lead where they needed to go.  


* * *

  
The two continued for about half an hour, fighting more of those twisted Daedra as they fell from the sky. They worked surprisingly well for people who couldn't communicate past simple, and _sometimes_ rude on his behalf, gestures, but Malik did notice how she would become more guarded when he used even an apprentice level spell, probably even more than most Nords did. So he stuck to the sword, even if it looked like it would break any moment.

Every so often she would try to talk to him, felt like she was trying to order him like a captain, but would quickly quiet down once she realized he wasn't going to talk back. Malik never responded in words, no point wasting breath.

They were running up the stairs up the side of a mountain when the familiar sound of fighting reached his ears, a monstrous roar echoing all around them.

Malik's eye widened, fearing that it might be his fiery friend. He rushed up the stairs, hand lighting up in flames as Incinerate built up. Ahead of him were soldiers and two men fighting more Daedra, and close to them was something like a tear in reality, shimmering and pulsing in tune with the pain in his hand.

He didn't waste any time, hoping down the small ledge he shot the spell at a Daedra as it was about to cut off the arm of a soldier, before rushing at another one.

He slashed the stomach of a Daedra, ducking under an incoming swing as he rolled to the side. Jumping to his feet, Malik brought his sword down, slashing off the head of his enemy. Behind him, a young-sounding man squeaked and slashed at his back.

Electricity sparked from his armor as Malik whirled around, glaring down at him. The Nord shrunk under his gaze and cowered in fear. So consumed by fear, he failed to see the Daedra coming his way.

 _Pathetic_.

Malik growled and grabbed him by his collar, yanking him out of the way before he died. Judging by the claw swung with such force that even blocking it with a sword made his arm buckle just the slightest bit, the kid would have surely lost a limb or two had he not pulled him out. He heard the man tumble somewhere behind him as he shoved the sword through the skull of the Daedra. It screeches garbled at the end as it burst into magic, leaving a pile of ashes on the ground to be picked up and thrown around by the wind.

He looked up, observing the battlefield. Only a few Daedra were left, stuck relatively close to one another, along with that...that _rip_ in reality.

He growled and charged into the group of Daedra, hacking and slashing with all his might. He stuck his sword into one of them, yet as he was about to whirl around to try and cut off the head of another, he heard a crack of breaking steel as the sword broke in two. "Damn!" He cursed as a claw racked down his side, sending pain to shoot up his spine. He ducked down from a second attack, already charging a spell, feeling the stable weight of a weapon without seeing what it was.

He bit his lip and jumped to his feet, whirling a battleaxe above his head as it materialized in his hand. With a fearsome roar, he slammed the axe down on the Daedra, watching in satisfaction as the thing disappeared back into Oblivion. A ball of fire shot past his shoulder, killing the last of the creatures.

Hope bubbled up in his chest, Obsidian could shoot fire when he really wanted to. Could it be—

Alas, when he had turned, all he had seen was an Altmer. A very pale Altmer. He would have thought him to be a snow elf, had he looked more Falmer like and not a man with pointy ears and bald head Malik could have used as a mirror.

The elf beckoned him over, urgency on his face. Malik gripped the bound battleax tighter, unsure if he wanted to trust the strange elf, but obliged when the ax disappeared in his hold. The elf grabbed his hand and pointed it at the tear. His hand tensed, a deep breath escape him as the pain washed over him. It felt like it was building up to something, the pain crawling up his arm like a swarm of ants. His fingers twitched, and just when it felt like his pain was going to consume him, like water boiling over the edges of an unattended cauldron, a green light shot out of his palm. It connected to the tear, another wave of pain going up to his hand.

But it didn't last.

Just as it came, the pain went away quickly. He released a breath, looking down at his hand. The stabbing pain he had felt a few moments ago became a dull ache, like the ache of his muscles after he cleared out multiple bandit camps and was running on nothing but leftover adrenaline. He glanced at the woman and elf, seeing them exchanging some words, paying little attention to him aside from a glance or two. The soldiers were another story, prepared to fight him yet about as invested in such a thing as a cat was about taking a dip in a pond.

_Now is the best time as any._

He mused, carefully pulling off the gauntlet. The mark on his palm was terrible, to say the least. It looked like he had touched the surface of a burning hot lexicon — the almost elegant swirls had burned off the red tattooed on his palm, leaving the irritated pink-ish flesh hard to miss even without the occasional glow of green magic that shined from it. Concentrating, Malik cast a ward spell around the mark. The magic built around it, at first Malik thought it wouldn't work, but then the proverbial dam gave way and he released a breath of relief when the pain went away entirely as the far branching ends of the mark were now bordered by light yellow magic.

The woman's voice sounded over the roaring wind, urgent and commanding; a fire spell built up in his hand as unsuppressed instincts gained over years of hardship reared their ugly heads. He turned to them slowly, leveling his gaze with the woman. "What is it?" He asked, speaking for the first time since they set out. The Altmer took a step forward and raised his hands. His palms glowed a light blue as he pointed them towards Malik.

Malik sneered and tried to step back, but the light just followed after him. The woman unsheathed her sword and pointed it at him.

 _Stay put._ Malik could almost hear her think.

He glared at her, holding up his charged Incinerate spell as a warning — _I'm dangerous too_.

  
Magic washed over him, warm and welcoming, and safe, and oh so sickeningly familiar...but without the horrid undertone of a Daedric Prince. This magic didn't feel like darkness and dread were trying to crawl down his throat, more like a light spray of water in the early spring. He lowered his arm but did not disperse the spell, keeping a careful watch on the two no matter how much the magic urged him to close his eye, keeping even closer surveillance of the life signals dancing in his blindside.

"Can you understand me now?"

He blinked and groaned, stepping back and dispersing his spell with a flick of his wrist. "I can." He started, rolling his suddenly numb tongue around his mouth. His throat felt a little better too, but not by much.

"Finally." The Imperial growled, crossing her arms.

"Well, would you look at that! Our scaly friend talks!" The short man shot him a grin, resting a crossbow nearly the size of him on his shoulder.

"I suppose I have you to thank for the communication spell." Malik nodded his head slightly at the mage, form tense. "Though I am not exactly thrilled about who you learned it from."

The mage looked surprised, pleasantly surprised? Or maybe it was just his eye playing tricks. "You can learn a lot from walking in the Fade." The elf answered though it didn't explain anything to him. "I assume you learned the same way?" All Malik could respond with was a grunt, what in Oblivion was the Fade? 

"All this Fade talk," The small man groaned, coming over. "That was a really good fight you put up there."

"If that is the case, your enemies had shallow standards." He retorted, absentmindedly wondering how this man wasn't _freezing_ his bits off, wearing something that didn't look like it protected much from the howling wind and snow. And why he was showing so much chest hair?

"Enough of this!" The woman interrupted his musings. "What are you, creature? What-"

Imperial looks, Nord bigotry. Figures.

She continued to question him, but he had already stopped listening to her. Maybe not the best of ideas he ever had, considering he knew not where he was or who they were. But listening to another spiel fuelled by racism was not on his list of things to do.

He sighed, effectively cutting her off. "My name is Malik Nagtus." The Imperial opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. "You know who I am, now what do you call yourself?" He asked,

"Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast," the Imperial replied, evidently annoyed by not being able to voice her thoughts. 

"Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller and occasionally — unwelcome tagalong." He motioned to the device on his back. "And this here's Bianca." It had a vague design of a crossbow but was far stockier than any crossbow he's seen before. The naming part was a little odd, but nothing too far out of the norm, he did have a sword collecting dust named 'Red Eagle' in his armory.

"And I am Solas." The elf introduced himself, almost using his staff as a walking stick, which, in Malik's humble opinion, was about as useful as a staff ever got. The elf was a little more ragged than the rest of them, a bit like some of the teachers in the mage college.

Malik nodded his head, looking back at the Imperial. "I am assuming your men found me?"

"Yes." The woman almost sneered at him, seemingly controlling herself at the last second. "After you fell from the Breach." This time she did sneer, distrust, and anger shining in her eyes. "And caused it to grow _bigger_."

... _what?_

  
He blinked, trying to figure out if this was just a badly timed joke. "Pardon?"

This was the wrong thing to say because the floodgates that held back her emotions burst at his words, unleashing all her pent up anger. "The temple of Sacred Ashes exploded, tearing a hole into the sky! _You_ -" She jabbed a finger into his chest, her sword trembling in her grasp. "-shot out of the Breach like a demon. _You_ -" She crowded his space, his inner beast snarled at her disrespect; rage made her forget his magical abilities. "-survived without a scratch, while the Breach grew bigger and more _unstable_!"

He...he didn't know what to say.

He just stood there, feeling like a prisoner on trial for a crime he didn't commit, wanting to deny everything and claim that he did not remember a thing. Yet the proof was right there, practically shoved in his face on a silver platter; the burning mark on his palm, the hole in the sky marching it, why he had woken up with his whole body in pain, why his throat had hurt like it did after he shouted for three days straight... _fuck_.

He breathed in and looked down at the woman, her fury filled eyes hid grief behind them, she must have lost someone in this apparent explosion. "I deny whatever accusations you have made for me." He answered calmly, watching the woman's face twist into a scowl. "What do you want from me?"

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but the elf beat her to it. "When you fell-" He began, stepping closer. "-the Breach left its mark on you." As if to prove a point, green magic flared from his palm as the hole in the sky flashed bright green, his magic luckily stopping him from feeling pain. "I theorized your mark could close the rifts left in the Breach's wake." He smiled as he motioned to the area behind them, and Malik was thankful for his armor hiding the way his hackles pricked up — it was fake, the smile too warm and tight at the corners, not reaching his cold, deceitful eyes. Just like _Astrid's_ , just like Babette's, sweet like honey to lure you into a den of a beast. "It seems I was correct."

He leveled his gaze with the elf, "You haven't answered my question." The elf quirked an eyebrow, so he continued, ignoring the woman who still had a sword too close to his crotch for his tastes. "What do you want from me?"

"It could also close the Breach." The woman sighed and stepped away from him, hiding her grief and rage behind a barrier of determination. "You-" She motioned to the hole in the sky. "-Will help us." She took a few more steps back and began talking to the elf.

The way she said it left little room for negotiations; Like Vimune used to demand to get her fur brushed after rolling around in the mud wi—

His heart seized up under his ribs, lungs denying to take in oxygen as a dagger of ice felt like it was tearing through his chest. He felt a single tear build up in his eye, memories he tried so hard to repress _creeping_ back into the forefront of his mind —

He breathed out, blinking the tears away; there would be time, later, when he could dwell on his thoughts, howl his sorrows to the moon. But for now, he was in foreign territory.

He needed to focus.

He cleared his throat as the short man came to stand next to him. "Did they find anyone with me?" He asked, fingers of his right hand idly fiddling with Hircine's ring that rested on the middle finger.

"Nah," Varric — was it? — answered. "You're the only one that got spit out of that thing," He motioned to the giant hole in the sky, "and survived." He craned his neck to look at him. "Why? You with someone?" Varric asked.

"Unimportant." He sighed and slid the right up to his knuckle. "Why Bianca?" He asked his own question, if for nothing more than to divert attention away from himself as he tried to come up with a plan to find Obsidian.

"Well, she is one of a kind." The small man glanced at his weapon and winked. "And she'll be great company in the valley." He glanced up at the hole in the sky. "Speaking of which, we should move. We don't know how much time we have left."

Cassandra scoffed in disgust, seemingly offended by those words. "Absolutely not. We appreciate your help Varric, but--" 

"But nothing." The trio looked at Malik, who scoffed and crossed his arms. "If the short man wishes to go, he'll go. Even a blind man can tell you; you need all the help you can get." Varric smirked at the Seeker — what in Oblivion even is a seeker? — the elf stayed quiet, while Cassandra huffed and nodded, quietly admitting her childish behavior.

"This way then." 

* * *

  
"So, Malik..." Varric started, gaining everyone's attention. Devines, the name still felt strange to his own ears, even when his companions only used it during battle. He had acquired a new sword, from a man who wouldn't need it anymore, shortly after they set off due to the fear of running out of Magicka, yet somehow it felt even more brittle than his previous one.

Malik glanced over his shoulder for a second to look at them, before turning his head back to the road. "Yes, Varric?"

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you?" Varric asked as he walked up next to him.

"Why do you ask?" Malik countered with his own inquiry, "I am not exactly much to be curious about." He stated plainly, sure— he was a fair bit taller than most people, and black was an uncommon coloration for Argonians, and he had more horns than most. But he wasn't something people looked at more than twice.

"You fell out of the Breach and now have a glowing hand," Varric argued back, motioning at the Breach for emphasis. "And-" He patted his armored tail, making it whip it to the opposite side. "You've got a tail, Shooting Star." He added.

Malik chuckled, "And you only reach up to a man's arse." He countered, waving a hand just above the man's head mockingly. "Truly, what a sad fate the Divines have given you."

"At least I'm not slimy and scaly." The man shot back, swatting away Malik's hand with a grumble. But despite his words, a grin was slowly stretching across his features.

"I'm not slimy," Malik snorted, "I'm a lizard, not a bloody frog!" He exclaimed, making his voice higher pitched on purpose to show his amusement since his helmet hid the conventional way of showing emotions. "And at the very least -" He nudged the crossbow on Varric's back, "-I didn't name my primary weapon after a lover."

Varric looked up at him all of a sudden, eyes wide in shock. "How did you..?"

Malik chuckled and looked back to the path they were threading. "Deductive reasoning." He answered plainly, "Not a lot of people get that attached to objects to name them." He glanced down at him. "And since you don't seem to have lost all your marbles, I guessed it was because of a lover." He shrugged, "Child would have been my next guess had I been wrong."

Varric whistled lowly, "Careful Seeker, ol' Shooting Star could put Leliana out of business." Cassandra grunted in disgust behind them, making Malik chuckle at her reaction.

Then Varric's sentence caught up with his brain.

He stopped in his tracks, causing Solas to bump into him like one would a wall. "Shooting star?" He questioned, absentmindedly grabbing the elf by the shoulder to stop him from falling.

Varric snorted, snickering as Solas stumbled a bit before regaining his footing. "It was either that or Horny." A dangerous grin spread across his features, slowly filling Malik with dread. "I still haven't decided which one to use." He all but cackled like some evil bastard Malik once fought.

Malik's nostrils flared. "Careful small one." He answered in return. "I'm big, can get clumsy-" He purposely put all his weight as he took a step, hearing the ice shatter underfoot. "Might slip, a certain tiny man might go 'squish'." He said innocently.

Varric snorted in amusement, and Malik couldn't help chuckling along. Behind them, he heard Cassandra groan in annoyance. "So what are you?" Varric repeated the original question, "Serious this time."

Malik snorted at that. "Some would ask you the very same question." Varric only chuckled, waiting for an answer. "I am an Argonian." He answered plainly with a shrug.

"An Argonian?" Solas questioned with furrowed eyebrows. "I have never heard of such a thing." He tilted his head. "Nothing in the texts about the Fade mentioned such a creature, not have I met any when walking trough dreams."

There's that word again— Fade; what did it mean? Was it a Daedric realm? Or a term used to define everything outside of Mundus? "I'm not from the Fade." He said, hoping this wouldn't raise more suspicion than these people had.

"You're a demon!" Cassandra's voice suddenly piped up. "Demons only come from the Fade." She sneered, her anger once again rearing up.

"No." His eye narrowed, he tilted his head to look at her. "I was born in this material plane, to a mother and a father." He clarified, trying his hardest to ignore the memories that tried to come back to him.

"Then why have I not seen anyone like you?" She demanded, coming up on his other side.

"This...is not surprising." Malik mused, hiding the anxiety bubbling in his chest. "Seldom few choose to leave their clan. Even less interact with other species." He glanced at Solas, trying to choose his words very carefully. "But unless you have never traveled by sea, you would have encountered one or two. Most cities prefer to have them as dock workers."

"I have been to quite a few ports." The elf piped up, "I'm afraid I have never seen anyone in Thedas that looked like you. Nothing that was sentient, at least." He tapped his chin.

Damn! Malik cursed in his mind. Thedas? Where in Oblivion was Thedas? Could this be another island like Midwood or Falskaar? It was possible, but not very probable, considering he had been meticulous in finding every map there was about their world; he knew every island, archipelago, and sea that existed around Tamriel. A different plane of Mundus, perhaps? Also not very probable, not enough Daedra. That only left time magic...  
Devines — _Where_ and _when_ in Oblivion was he?!

"Oh?" He questioned, stuck between screaming internally and wanting to break things. "To be fair." He cleared his throat. His skin felt tight, the beast earning for freedom in his veins. "I am not exactly a shining example of what Argonians are supposed to look like. Many differ in appearance greatly, even amongst clan members. You may have just met some that looked different from me." He gave a half-hearted guess, trying to swallow down the need to shift, to feel the safety his beast provided.

"Truly?" The elf pressed further, much to Malik's displeasure. "What can they look like?"

"Uh...some look more like you, some more like me?" He sighed and shook his head, continuing forward. "In truth, I am under a bit of stress and I can't remember much. I may be able to answer better once Daedra aren't falling from the sky."

"Hah! I think you of all people can say that. How hard did you hit your head when you fell?" Varric's grin slowly fell as he lowered his tone to a softer one. "Do you really not remember what happened?"

Malik didn't answer at first, trying to remember anything, but all that came up was blurry images and distorted voices. "No." He shook his head. "The last memory I have, I was with my friend." He glanced at Cassandra. "And then I woke up in your dungeon."

"Spin a story! It's what I would do." Varric advised.

"Of course you would," The Seeker growled.

"Hey, I've found it's one of the best ways to avoid execution." The small man shrugged.

Cassandra scoffed, and Malik was almost sure he heard her roll her eyes, but she let the conversation drop.  
Malik waited a few minutes before asking. "So, what are you, Varric?"

He heard someone behind him chuckle, causing him to give a small growl. "Was that a serious question?" The elf asked.

"Yes."

The short man whistled. "Man, you really must have hit your head hard." After a few seconds of awkward silence, he answered. "I'm a dwarf."

Malik jerked his head to look at the dwarf over his shoulder, confused beyond belief. He had been unfortunate enough to meet Dwemer before, and they most certainly didn't look like that — they mostly just looked like pale, taller than most, Dunmer. Granted, most of them had lost their minds, and even their bodies, to the machines they created when he encountered them, but still!

Malik opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of fighting. The group began to run up the hill, and they came across yet another rift. Malik unsheathed his sword and charged at the closest Daedra, or Demon, as his companions called them, while Cassandra charged at another one.

Fighting was becoming tiresome for him, his bloodlust kept him going strong during fights, made it easy to ignore the ache in his muscles that would return when there was nothing left to kill. He would usually use a healing spell to get rid of the pain, but he was unsure how much Magicka he had left, so casting a healing spell was too hard to justify. And he wasn't about to try and drink one of those potions of theirs, Devines knew what's in them.

"Seal it quickly!" Solas called across the battlefield when they managed to fell the last of the Daedra.

He thrust out his hand at the tear in reality, relieved when no pain came. But he felt it sapping him of his Magicka. It slowly inched back into place, then suddenly snapped. He breathed a sigh of relief, glancing to see the elf come over to him.

"Sealed as before. Well done." He nodded his head at Malik's hand. "The mark does not seem to bother you anymore?"

"It certainly bothers me." Malik snorted. "But, at least my magic can stave off the pain." He sheathed the sword and lightly massaged the offending palm. "It's sapping my Magicka that I used to shield it from the rest of me." He grumbled in discontent.

"Why do you use a sword, if you know the art of magic?" Solas asked, both of them listening to Cassandra yell at the soldiers to open the gates.

"I do not wish to limit myself is all." He answered simply, not giving the elf any more Information, instead choosing to motion for Solas to follow Cassandra.

The elf frowned, but followed after the seeker, with Malik now at the back of their group.

Malik looked around — they were on yet another bridge, this one far more fortified, with wooden spike walls, wagons, and multiple soldiers — all of which tensed as he passed by. He stopped as they were passing a makeshift healer's station, nothing more than a table with potions and a few bedrolls. The healer, a woman, dressed in more of those white and red robes with a sun symbol, was hunched over a soldier, doing her best with limited resources, with a second soldier lying on a bedroll close to her.

He bit his lip, glancing between his companions, who didn't seem like they noticed he had stopped following them, and the injured. He could feel his Magicka slowly regenerating, but he might need it... _oh, oblivion_.

Tentatively, he approached the woman. "Do you need help with the injured, ma'am?" He asked, voice calm yet soft, higher in pitch than his usual speaking tone, palm lighting up a brilliant yellow light.

The woman startled, like a rabbit in a snare. "O-Oh!" She glanced over to him quickly, but either did not look closely or wasn't afraid of how he looked. "Yes, that would be most helpful!" She called over her shoulder, "You can help by -- Eep!" She startled and jumped to her feet, watching a brilliant light encircle the soldier, mending his wounds before her very eyes. Her eyes switched to her other patient, to see the same happening to him, wounds healing faster than any potion could muster, leaving pale scars in the stead of gaping wounds.

Something only the Devine will of the Maker could muster.

Malik snorted when his eye locked with the woman's, whose size was that of dinner plates. The light died down as he lowered his hand. "Take care of them, healer." And with that, he walked after his companions, leaving the woman to stutter and try to realize what happened.

"That was really something, Shooting Star," Varric stated, having watched the entire thing. If he was being honest with himself, it creeped him out how quickly the soldiers were healed. He had only met one other talented healer in his lifetime and that man had been possessed and later started a war by blowing up a Chantry, killing countless innocents. "Are you a Spirit healer then?"

Malik looked at him with his head tilted in confusion. "A _what_?"

"A spirit healer, you know...The spirit things show you how to heal and all that...stuff." Varric tried to explain, but as a dwarf, his knowledge about magic was close to none. Might as well try to learn flying from a fish.

"Ah...I see..." He cleared his throat, trying to understand who in oblivion would seek wisdom from spirits; nothing more but revenge and sorrow fueled ghosts, that lot was. "No...no spirits aiding me. I try to distance myself from them." He chuckled awkwardly.

Malik watched the short man relax a bit from his answer. "Still, that was nice, what you did for the soldiers."

Malik glanced down at the dwarf, a little amused by the new name he called him. "How so?"

"Not many mages would heal Chantry soldiers," Varric answered, though that explained nothing to Malik. "Not many people would heal those that want to kill them either." He added and shrugged.

The Argonian shrugged in turn. "I do not consider myself a mage. If it wasn't obvious by the sword."

"If you say so, Horny." Malik groaned at the name but moved to walk after the other two. They joined the rest of the group, where Cassandra was in the middle of a very heated argument with an older man in robes.

"Here they come." He growled. The redhead attempted to introduce them, but he cut her off. "I order you to take this — this demon away from here!" He looked around wildly until his gaze fell to Cassandra. "Why have you not banished it back to the Fade? I order you to kill this abomination!"

"Order me?" Cassandra and the man began to argue again. Malik deadpanned, sighed, and shook his head.

 _Oh, for the love of._.. This was like the bloody truce treaty all over _again_.

He strode over to the table. "Enough, all three of you." He didn't raise his voice — there was no need to — the low rumble combined with a commanding tone was enough to make them fall silent. "You can bicker like children over sweet rolls when people aren't dying, and Daedra aren't falling from the sky."

"Quiet Demo-"

"Shut up." Malik cut the man off, starring down the small man, who shrunk under the scrutiny. "Let me make one thing clear, priest. I am not a Daedra. I am not a Demon." He glared down at him, feeling the beast within claw at his insides. "If you continue to act as if I am some abominable _beast_ , then I will _act_ like one." He snorted, hot breath escaping his helmet like the fire of a dragon. "And I can guarantee you-" his voice grew deeper, the subtlest hint of the beast inside. "They will _never_ find your corpse." He leaned in closer, bracing one hand on the table. "Am I clear?

The man slowly nodded his head; his anger momentarily switched for the shock. Like no one has ever talked back to him, let alone order him around.

"Good." Malik's voice softened, and he straightened up, continued before the priest's anger clouded his mind again. "What options are there to reach that Breach of yours?"

"The path through the valley is the quickest route to reach the Temple," Cassandra motioned to the path.

"But not the safest." The red-haired woman interjected, looking up at him. "Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains." She motioned with her hand at the mountains in the distance.

"We lost contacts with an entire squad on that path," Cassandra argued with the other woman. "It's too risky."

"Listen to me." The man started, having found his voice finally. "Abandon this now before more lives are lost."

"If you truly believe that stopping now is going to save more lives than end them, then you are a fool." His words were backed up by the Breach expanding. He looked down at his hand, felt his Magicka drain as his hand sparked with the green light. He growled and looked at the red-haired woman. "You wouldn't happen to have my gear or my bag, would you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but the man cut her off. "Your things have been confiscated by the Chantry, De—"

Malik swatted at the top of the stone wall, sending snow right into the man's face. "Enough with the name-calling," Malik interjected, listening to the man sputter, and looked around. "How about you run along and play, while the adults fix this mess."

The man's face turned a curious shade of purple at the remark and he turned to Casandra. "Are you going to let that —that thing talk to me like that?"

Casandra smirked and replied. "I am a thug, as you put it, I do not care for your feelings."

Malik let out a bark of laughter but tried to mask it with a cough. He noticed a bag on the ledge of the bridge and grabbed it, using what little Magicka he had left to bind the bag to himself. Hopefully, this would work.  
"What are you doing now?" The man questioned, almost enraged by him using magic. What's with people despising magic around here?

"Since you hold my primary way of acquiring my gear, I will have to use alternative means," Malik answered plainly, opening the bag and reaching inside. He pulled out a potion bottle, the liquid inside a darkish blue, so unlike any Mana potion they had ever seen. "I don't know about you," He uncorked the bottle and threw his head back, his helmet disappearing to allow him to take a big gulp of the potion, shuddering at the horrid taste. "But, I am going through the mountains." His helmet had already reappeared when he looked down at the three humans. But they had already seen enough.

An awkward silence fell over the humans. For a few moments, he was confused as to why they stared at him like he was Molag Bal made flesh. Then the man opened his mouth,

And he realized his mistake.

"Guards! De-De-Demon!"

This was going to be a _long_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, new chapter. Was intending to write the demon fight but this bit ended up being roughly 5000 words long and I want to keep it mostly consistent. Next chapter should be up next wednesday. Cheers m8s :)
> 
> 2021/01/22 EDIT: Changed a few things and tried to fix up the grammar. Bumped it up to like 7000+ words for this chapter so woo!


	3. I Told Them: I will Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And everything got stranger by the second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, another Wednesday, another update. I'm trying to keep the chapters consistent at about 5000 words each, but you tell me if they feel too long or too short :)  
> Next update I'll put photos of what Malik looks like to give a little visual aid. Obsidian is from a mod called Obsidian the Fiery Sabre cat, but it may have been taken down, IDK, haven't checked in a while.
> 
> EDIT: 2021/01/24 bumped it up to roughly 8000 words, so yay.

The path up the mountain was...unpleasant.

Varric grumbled curses as he hid behind him, shielding himself from the howling winds that did their best to shove near fistfuls of snow in Malik's face. His armor, dark as the night on a good day, was beginning to take on the appearance of the half-melted sludge one would find in Windhelm's grey quarter. The path was also a pain in the arse — a mix of narrow, snow-covered stairs and frozen over rickety ladders which groaned under his weight. The rungs caught in his toe-claws every other step, sending minor shocks of pain up his spine.  
He was reasonably sure that whoever made this, barely suitable, path didn't have other races on their mind.

Matter of fact he didn't think they had anyone else in mind.

But by far, the worst thing about this journey was the shieldmaiden's gaze — All way up the mountain, he had felt her steely gaze burning holes into the back of his skull, didn't even need to look to know how tense she was. Her reaction hadn't been as horrible as the old priest's, at least at that particular moment, the man had nearly pissed himself when he caught a glimpse of Malik's muzzle, but it still had him on edge.

Malik grit his teeth as he climbed up the last ladder, somehow managing not to catch a claw on a piece of wood. "Is this path some sort of passage complex?" Malik questioned, helping Varric up the last rung. "I can't imagine someone would choose to make a mine entrance up here."

Most mines in Skyrim were made at ground level or on the side of mountains, rarely did someone choose to make one at the top of a mountain. Personal experience dictated that seldom few ore veins ever developed at the peaks, and those that were there were rarely worth the effort. So maybe this was a passageway?

"It's part of a mine complex," Cassandra answered as Solas heaved himself up with a graceful and easy step. "These mountains are full of such paths." She gestured to the surrounding mountains. "They were full of coal and iron, but most of it has already been mined a long time ago."

"They could have made the path dwarf accessible." Varric huffed, hot breath visible in the cold air as he panted like a dog. Malik felt a small pang of sympathy for him; the only thing worse than being too tall for this world was being too short for it.

Malik noticed Cassandra roll her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"Yes, it seems humans often forget they are not the only sentient race," Solas stated, calmly walking next to Varric as they followed the winding path up to the mine.

"Humans aren't the only ones," Malik countered plainly, leading them towards the mine. "Mer can be just as forgetful." And _vengeful_ — a part of him, deep in his mind, sneered as the wind picked up, harshly howling in his ears like masses of the soon to be dead; Wailing from a punishment only a few deserved, children least of all.

_They all burned the same._

"The...Mer?" Solas repeated his words, leaving an unspoken question of what Malik meant to hang in the air like a heavy blanket.

"Elves." He spit out the word, breathing in deep before his thoughts got the better of him. Most Altmer were proud of being called Mer, especially for being related to the first elves to come to Tamriel, going so far as to keep their marriages in the family to the point they looked like yellow fruit. Surely Solas knew this?

"Ah," Solas hummed, nodding his head like some of the professors when they didn't know an answer to a question but their pride didn't let them show others how wrong they were. "Some would stand to argue that statement."

Malik snorted a snowflake that had made it past his helmet and up his nostril. "And I would love to discuss it, but currently, we have more pressing matters than racism across species." He motioned to the glaring gaping hole in the sky, leading them towards the mine.

In no time they found themselves standing in front of a large opening carved into the rock. The mineshaft was just as dark and dreary as the dungeon had been, but the outside appeared to have been made with care, supported by heavy timber beams and stone slabs; a far cry from the mines at Skyrim that would collapse if one sneezed the wrong way.

The only viable light being the gem atop Solas's staff, his beast eye could see as if he were in dim, but it was not optimal for fighting, especially when fighting alongside a mage and someone with a crossbow who couldn't see as well as him.

Without even thinking about his jumpy companions, Malik's hand rose, a ball of light about the size of a large stone forming in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, the ball floated up to hover above their heads, casting everything in a pale light.

Cassandra jumped and brandished her sword, nearly slashing at his tail had he not have had armor on it, in turn causing Varric to shoot an arrow at the ball of light. Malik watched the arrow go straight through the harmlessly floating orb to embed itself into the ceiling, whistling lowly when he saw it hit the crease between two bricks.

"You can calm down now." Malik turned to look at the two; his voice hiding the uncertainty his helmet hid so perfectly. Who knew how they would react if he used some of his stronger spells if they were like cats dropped into water at a meager light spell? "It is just Candlelight." He waved a hand through the ball of light. "Harmless."  
Cassandra blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment with a cough, sheathing her sword while Varric just stared at the thing floating overhead like a curious child.

"This is incredible." Solas tried to touch the orb, only for his finger to pass through unharmed. "You have remarkable mastery over your magic." He praised as he observed the ball.

Malik snorted, forming another orb of light in his hand. "If you say so." He held out his hand, shooting the ball into the darkness.

The ball cast light as it traveled down the dark tunnel, shinning on dusty bricks and rotten wooden barrels. And cobwebs, lots and lots of cobwebs that he prayed weren't made by giant frostbite spiders — those were a nightmare to clear out, especially in small spaces like mineshaft hallways.

Something moved at the end of the tunnel, slinking away from the light.

_3...2...1..._

A screech echoed through the halls as the orb of light made contact with a Daedra, momentarily blinding by creating a large flash of light that cast light in the entire hallway. It reformed and hovered over the head of the creature, causing more to join in on the shrieking.

"Here, they come," Malik muttered to himself, charging at the twisted Daedra, with Cassandra hot on his heel.

* * *

  
The fight ended quickly.

With Malik and Cassandra double-teaming the Daedra, giving them no time to breathe in between their sword strikes, Cassandra's shield bashes leaving them open for a fireball to the face. Cassandra was warming up to him too, at least it appeared like that to him, since she trusted him enough not to stab her as she whirled around him, their armor grinding together, to stab Daedra at his back while he finished off her previous target. All the while Solas and Varric took potshots a little ways behind them, pelting the Daedra with spells and arrows alike.

He flicked some of that Daedric ooze off the sword he had knicked off some soldier back on the bridge, "Be on your guard," Malik cast another Magelight spell. "There may be more." He said and sent the ball flying down another hallway.

There were more.

But working together, they managed to get past the twisted Daedea without much trouble.

The path opened up at the other side of the mountain, which was where they found the corpses of Leliana's scouts.

"Surely, this can't be all of them," Cassandra stated in disbelief, looking at the mess on the ground.

"They died quickly," Malik noted, kneeling next to the bodies. Or, specifically, body _parts_. His eye narrowed as the scent of blood flooded his nose — his tail threw snow as it flicked to one side — his inner beast _salivated_ — fresh blood. The marks on the bodies, like the wounds on the corpses of frost troll victims, stretched across the entire torso, having torn through the weakest parts of the armor to leave gaping bloody gashes and broken bones sticking out at odd angles. Some were dismembered, unlucky as they most likely suffered more before they died. "They haven't been dead for long," He glanced at Cassandra as he picked up a fist full of red snow and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Maybe 10 to 20 minutes."

"So you're a bloodhound too now?" She questioned, her voice not angry, not this time, but sad. Sad for the death those Daedra brought? Maybe, her warrior mask slipped back over her face too quickly for him to tell. He grunted in reply.

"So there's a chance the rest are alive? Hold up somewhere?" Varric questioned, stepping up to examine the bodies himself.

"Our main focus must be the breach," Solas said solemnly. "Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe."

Malik scowled under his helmet. He hated when people were right.

He glanced back at the bodies for the last time and flicked off the snow off his palm with a grunt. "Keep an eye out then." Malik stood and began heading down the path before them, noting a few sets of snowed over footsteps in the middle of the road.

They traveled in silence until the mark began crackling. He looked up to see a rift in front of him pulse and spew out more Daedra as the squad of 5 to 6 scouts fought for their lives.

"Looks like we found your scouts, Seeker!" Varric yelled, the group charging over to help.

As before, Solas and Varric stayed back, the elf throwing up a barrier to aid the scouts in retreating to safety as they dragged the injured away from those monsters. At the same time, Varric shot arrow after arrow after arrow into the twisted creatures. Meanwhile, Malik and Cassandra dominated the front line. Between their swords and Malik's destructive magic, they sent the Daedra back to Oblivion.

As soon as the last Daedra fell, Malik thrust out his hand at the rift, and with a sputter of green magic, the tear in reality sealed with a ripple through the stagnant air.

"Sealed, as before." Solas came up next to him, something akin to surprise and pride in his voice. "You are becoming quite proficient at this," Malik grunted in reply and lightly flexed his fingers; his arm was beginning to get numb, starting with the palm.

"Let's hope it works on the big one," Varric muttered, glancing up at the gaping hole in the sky.

"Thank the Maker, you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra." One of the scouts spoke, groaning as the seeker helped her up. "I don't think we would have held out much longer." She clutched her side, pain lacing her voice.

"Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant." Cassandra turned to watch the group approach. "It — _he_ insisted we come this way."

The scout shrank under Malik's amber gaze, looking up in almost surprise horror at this creature before her. "The prisoner..." Her voice wavered, "Then you..." He could see her eyes widen as her body trembled.

"Fell from the sky?" He asked, standing still as one would do with a frightened animal. "Apparently so." He shrugged and surveyed the area. "You have wounded. " Malik changed the subject, voice coming out surprisingly gentle even with the muffle of his helmet. "I can provide healing if you allow me." As he spoke, he held up his hand, and a glowing orb appeared in his palm, shining with an almost celestial light.

The scout flinched back, "I'm afraid," She began, gulping, she tried to steady her nerves. "Some of the men might not react well to magic at the moment." She spoke as if trying not to offend a Daedric Prince.

"I see." Malik slowly nodded his head, the orb disappearing with a flick of the wrist. Reaching into the bag hanging on his waist, he pulled out a decently sized flask full of red liquid and tossed it to the scout, who caught it deftly. "Divide this amongst your men." The woman looked at the flask as he ordered. "It tastes _horrid_ , and I do not suggest asking me what is in it." At those words she unplugged the cork and took a sniff, jerking back quickly, much to his amusement. "Just know it will get them back on their feet."

"You have my sincere gratitude, ser." The woman bowed her head and hit her chest, fist over her heart. Malik only snorted and waved it off.

"The path into the valley behind us is clear for the moment," Cassandra spoke, motioning to the path behind them. "Go while you still can."

"At once, Lady Cassandra." The woman turned back to her men and began dividing the potion amongst the injured; none of them looked thrilled after having seen her reaction to the red liquid.

"The path ahead appears to be clear of demons well," Solas observed, confidence in his voice.

"Let's go, before that changes." Cassandra strode past them, talking lead of their group.

They continued, the stench of burnt flesh and ash greeting them long before they caught sight of the charred remains that were once the Temple. And as Malik jumped down a ledge onto the burnt soil — his breath caught in his throat.

Bodies burnt, yet, still somehow standing, without any indication of who they were, frozen in silent screams of terror and pain. Heavy flakes of ash rained down instead of snow, blanketing everything in deathly grey, yet the smell lingered; that mix of smoke, burning flesh, and fear felt like parasites burrowing into his lungs, burning his throat with every breath he took, a fraction the dead must have felt in their final seconds. A deathless death, befitting the realm of domination and enslavement — without mercy, without relief — only _suffering_.

He breathed out and held back a cough, Cassandra's voice coming in one ear and exiting out the other. Something about a woman and peace talks — he wasn't really listening, not when muted screams rolled around his head and echoed in his ears.

_Not when his mind chose to play tricks on him._

They rounded a corner, and Malik finally saw the Breach up close.

It swirled ominously in the sky, like the skies of Sovangard, but with the twisted color of Herma-Mora's realm. As if Apochrapha was slowly seeping into this world with the intent of corrupting it, to turn everything into seas of oily tendrils and book riddled hallways. Like oily tendrils, green light danced across the air, looping and swirling around a giant outcrop of green crystals — the only thing still standing in the smoldering crater.

"The Breach is a long way up," Varric whistled, looking up at it. "Really green too," He looked back at Malik. "You sure did a number on it Shooting Star."

He growled lowly, though he did not put any fire behind it. "And it is a massive hole to plug," Malik stated, turning to Cassandra. "Without the wings of a Dovah, there is no way to reach it." Looking back at it now, he doubted that even a Dovah would be able to fly up to it, the magic coming out of it might have dropped one out of the sky before it came anywhere close to it.

"This rift is the first, and it is the key," Solas informed them, motioning to the tear in reality right above the crystal centerpiece. "Seal it," He said, "And perhaps we may seal the Breach."

They turned at the sound of footsteps, watching a dozen soldiers round the corner with Leliana in front. "You're here," She sighed in relief. "Thank the Maker." Leliana ran up to them.

Malik's eye narrowed, what was the Maker? Certainly didn't sound like a different name for one of the Divines...wherever he was, these people followed a different religion than most of Tamriel, and judging by how widespread it was, it was major around these parts.

Good thing the Divine's amulets were under his armor.

"Leliana." Cassandra walked up to her. "Have your men take up positions around the Temple." She ordered, before turning back to Malik. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

Malik snorted, hot breath escaping his helmet. "Let's get this over with." He turned, leading the group as they began following the walls to get down into the crater.

 **"Now is the hour of our victory."** A booming voice echoed around the Temple, feeling as if it shook the walls themselves. Yet something about it felt familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before, yet his traitorous mind refused to tell him where. Malik snarled a curse under his breath and quickened his pace.

 **"Bring forth the sacrifice."** Again that voice boomed, clearer this time. Sounded male too.

"What...are we hearing?" Cassandra questioned, wary and on edge almost as much as he was.

"At a guess?" Solas looked at the large tear in reality. "The person who created the Breach," Solas said solemnly as the group continued forward.

Malik growled and quickened his pace, even more, tail swiping side to side in his irritation. Little bits of memory were coming back to him, like a mist parting over a lake. Nothing tangible; stray memories of ringing bells and the smell of burning incense overshadowed by oiled steel. And the feeling of rage slowly building in his stomach for no reason.

They continued until they came across blood-red crystals growing out of a wall next to a corner. "You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker," Varric whispered, his voice taking on a nervous edge.

"I see that Varric," Cassandra replied matter-of-factly.

"But what's it doing here?" He persisted, unnerved, and doing his best to keep as far away from it as he could. Reminded him a bit of a farmer's son after his father had found the miracle growing powers of mammoth dung.

"Magic could have drawn it up from below the Temple." Solas offered. "Corrupting it."

"It's evil." He spat, "Whatever you do, don't touch it."

Malik raised an eyebrow at that, how much damage could crystalized coal do? Sure, magic was at play everywhere he went, but he couldn't pick up even the slightest hint of magic in those crystals, not without using his anti-mage spells anyway.

 **"Keep the sacrifice still."** The voice boomed again; then, a different one came through, a feminine one.

 _ **"Someone help me!"**_ It cried.

Cassandra gasped and looked around wildly. "That was Divine Justinia's voice." Without waiting for them she broke into a run towards the bottom of the pit.

Malik sighed and followed after her, listening to the other two men running behind him. They rounded the last corner and jumped down a shallow ledge to come closer to the rift.

 _ **"Someone help me!"**_ That same feminine voice pleaded, a strangled cry for help, broken off as another piped up.

**"Hey, bastards! Look here!"**

Malik was surprised to hear his voice come through; garbled and distorted, deep like Alduin's had been, an echo from the rift that rattled his bones, and a shiver raced up his spine. "That was your voice," Cassandra turned to him, "Most Holy called out to you but-"

There was a loud crack; the world around them became pale as two figures formed.

One — a creature shrouded in shadows, red glowing orbs for eyes the only notable thing on its featureless face, more emaciated than a draugr with long bony fingers. Like some kind of giant shade straight out of Meridia's temple, somehow having escaped his and Meridia's combined wrath, existing solely to bring chaos and harm to this land. It held something in its hand, something valuable if he had to guess.

And the other — an older woman, face marred with wrinkles and age spots, grey hair peeking out from her strange and very large hat; A priestess no doubt, dressed in a more regal version of those white and red robes, restrained by the hands with blood magic. Similar to some of Serana's vampiric magic if he had to guess.

 **"Bring forth the sacrifice."** _The dark figure spoke._ **"Keep the sacrifice still."** _It demanded._

 _ **"Someone help me!"**_ _The woman screamed._

 _Malik watched the doors slam open, a twin version of himself storm trough with a fire spell drawn._ **"Hey, Bastards!"** _His twin called, shooting off the ball of fire. Malik watched it hit the shade right in the side of the head and explode into flames._ **"Look here!"** _Next to him, a creature strode up, growling lowly as the flames around its neck lit up with a brilliant white, like the surface of a white-hot star —_

"Obsidian!" Malik called, stepping closer to the vision, but the cat didn't move from the side of his double. Just continued to growl, his armor rattling softly as the muscles underneath tensed for a pounce while the double shot off another spell.

_**"Run while you can! Warn them!"** The woman pleaded, but his double ignored her._

**"Back away from the woman."** _His double ordered, shooting off another fire spell._

 _The shade stumbled back, the orb falling out of its grasp as it clutched its face, if it even had one, to begin with._ **"Why you!"** _It looked up and pointed one bony finger at his double._ **"Slay the wretches!"**

There was another crack, and the ghostly figures faded away.

"You were there!" Cassandra sounded livid as she turned to him, fists clenched. "Who attacked? Most Holy is she... Where was she taken?" Her voice strained teeth grit in an unhappy sneer.

"I don't remember," Malik answered plainly, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

Cassandra scowled, brandishing her sword. "That demon," She snarled, "You attacked it, why? Was the most Holy needed for another purpose?" Cassandra demanded, her sword poised to strike at him. "What master do you serve, creature!"

Malik breathed in slowly, the amber glowing from within the darkness of his helmet disappeared for a few seconds as he closed his eye. Then it snapped open, still gleaming like a lantern, but somehow darker, guarded, icy almost. "I serve no master, other than myself." He reached up and took hold of the sword by the blade, effortlessly holding the weapon still no matter how much Cassandra tugged. "I do not know who the woman was." With a low growl, he lowered the sword so the tip pointed down to the ground. "And I do not remember what happened here." He puffed out a cloud of hot breath from his helmet, letting go of the sword he stalked closer to the rift.

"They're memories of what happened here; the fade bleeds into this place," Solas said, his voice sounding awed.

Malik snorted and looked around, scanning the ground. In the vision that shade had dropped something, like a focus point for magic or something similarly important — those things didn't break easily. Debris littered the scorched ground, bits of stark white bone crunched under his feet as he walked around. He closed his eye and focused; tuning out the sounds was easy, breathing in slow and deep the scents of death and despair faded away. Jolts ran up his body as if spiders were skittering under his skin, before that too _faded away_.

His eye snapped open, pure white and colorless. The world looked dull now, with muted colors befitting a ghost world and stagnant air right out of Coldharbour. But the magic was so much brighter. Colors every shade of the rainbow danced like leaves in the wind, twisting and turning and intertwining with the world itself. It was almost nauseating, seeing so much magic in one place, more densely packed than a damn forest. He glanced up, pain flaring behind his eye.

The sky was full of magic, intertwining in lines like those of a fishing net. The Breach was a hole in that net, spewing magic so dense that it was almost blinding. He growled and looked back to the ground, walking around and looking around, trying to find anything.

"You find anything interesting, Shooting Star?" Varric asked, watching him walk around aimlessly.

"Not a thing," Malik called back, his tail flicking a stray rock away in frustration. With a growl, he stopped using his magic sense; blinking rapidly his senses came back to him one by one as his eye returned to its original color.

"And what were you hoping to find?" Solas asked in a flat tone.

Malik glanced at him, sighed, and looked at the Breach. "I have been around enough to know that no creature can create something like this without something to channel the magic trough." He glanced around again. "A beacon, or a pillar or a trinket or whatever that ball was." He motioned to the area they were in with his arms. "But I see nothing."

"It is possible," Solas said slowly, though Malik felt as if the elf hadn't told even half of what he thought. “In any case." Solas cleared his throat. "This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily." He pointed a finger at Malik's hand as it sparked up again. "I believe with the mark; the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

So open the rift, kill what monstrosity comes out and close it again...what a _great_ plan.

Cassandra nodded and readied her blade. “That means demons. Stand ready!”

Malik looked down at his hand, watching the magic continue to spark out of it while the soldiers ran around to get into position. So Obsidian had been with him...but they found only him, after he apparently fell out of the sky, so his friend could be anywhere... 

Obsidian, please still be alive...

He closed his eye and breathed in, looking back at his companion. Cassandra gave him a nod. Fire built up into a ball in his other hand, he raised his sparking and the magic in it connected instantly to the rift.

With a loud bang, it opened, shooting out a beam of green light. An earthshaking roar rang out as large Daedra materialized. Ir glared down with its multiple beady red eyes, letting loose a deep laugh.

"It just laughed," Malik growled and shot off an Incinerate spell right into its head. Only for it to only blacken the face, doing no real damage. "Tough bastard." He remarked, pulling out his sword.

Cassandra shouted up at the archers. “Now!”

A hail of arrows rained down on the Daedra, few embedded themselves into its hide but not deep enough to cause damage. It waved its massive claw, knocking away arrows as a second round of them pelted the Daedra, as one would do with an annoying fly buzzing around their head. With a deep laugh, it dug its claws into the earth and pulled out a large stone, getting ready to throw it.

They charged the thing before it could; Solas provided a shield for some soldiers as it threw it at them. The stone bounced off the shield, and the elf flung an ice spell right back at it. It connected with its shoulder and froze it over right as Malik came into melee range of it. Malik swiftly dodged the large claws that tried to snatch him up, getting around the Daedra as he slashed its knee on the way behind it. Cassandra banged her shield, taunting, giving herself and Malik openings while Varric pelted it with arrows, aiming for the face and eyes.

Just when Malik had found a soft spot behind the knee and was plunging his blade into it, a field of glowing blue and purple light appeared, forcing the sword back as if Malik had just banged it against a wall.  
The Daedra turned and swung at him. "It's got a force shield!" Malik called, jumping back from the claw to blast another spell in its face. That did little more than annoy it and it swung its claws a second time, nearly getting him as he rolled out of the way.

"Quickly! Disrupt the rift!” Cassandra called, taunting the creature again with a loud bang of her shield.

Malik used the distraction to dart between the legs, moving to a safer distance before shooting out his hand again. And again the rift and it connected with a loud crack of green magic. He looked down to see the Daedra fall to its knees.

“The demon is vulnerable – now!” Cassandra yelled, leading the charge. Malik fired off a spell as a rain of arrows flew overhead, charging in.

The demon didn't stay down for long. Before he could reach it, the creature had already gotten up, two whips of electricity forming in its hands. It laughed and swung at his companions, right as the massive rift flashed an intense green light.

_—Time suddenly moved slowly for him —_

_—He watched the thing rear back—_

_—A loud snarl rang out—_

_—A beam of green light shot out of the hole, materializing another creature—_

_—And a fiery saber cat was munching and clawing at the Daedra's hand—_

_The thing roared and shook its hand, missing his companions entirely to claw at Obsidian. He wanted to move, but his legs wouldn't heed his command, standing in place and forcing him to watch the Daedra fling Obsidian into the central crystal._

_— Time sped up —_

All he could hear was a pained screech.

The beast inside raged to be set free — bloodlust flooded his senses — the world bled red.

_-tik tok-_

"Bastard!" Malik charged at the thing, not noticing the whip coming his way, not feeling the lightning coursing through his body.

_-tik tok-_

Using the knee of the thing as a platform, he jumped up, going with the momentum he punched it in the throat. The flesh gave way and his fist went through its throat. His fire spell sizzled the inside flesh while metal covered claws grabbed the first bone they found. Toe claws dug into the chest of the Daedra, sinking deep. With a mighty roar, Malik shoved his sword through the side of the big head and into the brain.

_-tik tok-_

An arc of blood sprayed past his sword, drenching his arm, and his inner beast sang in satisfaction.

_-tik tok tik-_

He twisted the blade and pulled it out, blood and bone following after the sword before he thrust it through one of the ugly eyes and into the brain. The thing garbled a screech and clawed at his back, struggling as well as it could.

_-tik tok tik tok-_

Malik weathered through the pain, only digging the sword deeper while his armor let off sparks with every claw that racked down his back. With a final garbled screech, the creature fell backward.

_-tik tok tik tok-_

Malik growled, digging his claws out to firmly plant his feet on the larger chest, and pulled out the sword. He stared down at its face, watching how the face began to peel away like a Dovah's scales.

_-tik tok tik tok-_

“Now! Seal the rift!” Cassandra shouted somewhere behind him. How her voice was louder than the ticking in his ears, he wasn't sure.

_-tik tok tik tok-_

Get to Obsidian! His brain screamed at him. But...no, he needed to close the hole too. Close the hole first, then get to Obsidian. Yes, right, do that first. His thoughts were beginning to get muddy, he could feel it, the metal in his chest, speeding up its speed.

_-tiktok tiktok tiktok-_

He turned and held out a blood-covered hand to the rift, magic shooting out his palm.

_-tiktok tiktok tiktok-_

Pins and needles traveled up his arm yet they were no more inconvenient than a breeze to him. The pain barely registered in his head, more of an afterthought of 'Oh, that hurts'. He watched the rift shrink, the ward on his arm broke just as the link snapped as the rift shot up like a wild fireball towards the sky.

-tiktok tiktok tiktok-

But as soon as he looked up, everything went white.

_-tiktok tiktok tiktok-_

He blinked, ears ringing and pain flaring through his arm. He looked at the crystal, casting his eyes down to a burning form."Obsidian!" He called, racing over to the feline.

_-Tiktok Tiktok Tiktok-_

He fell to his knees, hands glowing with a healing spell, a quiet mantra of "please be alright" falling from his lips alongside simple curses. He cast his spells, running his fingers through the burnt and patchy skin as it glowed, closing wounds that he could not see.

_-Tiktok Tiktok Tiktok-_

To his infinite relief, the cat rumbled and rolled onto his stomach, chuffing as he nuzzled into his hand. "Oh, thank you." He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, petting the cat with blood-stained fingers. "Are you alright, friend?"

_-TikTok TikTok Tiktok-_

The cat rumbled and rose to his feet, licking Malik's helmet, much to the argonian's amusement. "I'll take that as a yes."

_-TikTok TikTok Tiktok-_

Yet as he tried to stumble to his feet, a wave of pain washed over him, setting his nerves aflame. His world was no longer red, but that didn't help. He took in a ragged breath, wheezing as a once simple act felt like torture.

_-TikTok TikTok TikTok-_

He grunted, hand grabbing the handle on Obsidian's armored back. It was the only thing that kept him from falling face-first into the dirt.

_-TikTok TikTok TikTok TikTok TikTok-_

Colours blurred together, like a wet runny painting, swirling this way and that with the intent to make him heave. Someone somewhere shouted something, an echo of an echo echoing in his mind, muddy and unfocused. Was that a voice of one or a voice of many? He couldn't tell, couldn't tell where the ground ended and the sky began, couldn't tell if he was still standing. "I'm going to pass out now." He muttered, voice slurring.

_-tik tok-_

Shadows danced across his vision, closing in on him.

_-tik.....tok-_

Everything went black.

* * *

  
The breach remained in the sky. It didn't surprise Solas all too much, the plan had had only a minimal chance of working, but he had held some hope that the Seeker's half-baked idea would have worked out.

Nonetheless, the breach was stable. While it wasn't fully closed, which would most likely result in more rifts appearing in the last surrounding the mountains, it did mean he might have a second chance at breaking the Veil. The mark itself was firmly wormed into the hand of this new savior. As for the creature itself, it was unconscious, surprisingly enough. The effort to close the Breach had drained him, both mentally and physically, but it did not look like it was going to kill it.

But Solas was surprised how long the creature had stayed conscious, long enough to heal what Solas had to guess was some sort of pet, before falling to the ground.

Said pet was currently a hair length away from the soldiers responsible for carrying the humanoid creature, growling and rumbling in discontent, the flames around its neck flickering like a campfire, much to the soldier's unease.

Managing to get close to the tall creature was a miracle in its own right, as the flaming beast had set fire to the helmets of the first few soldiers that tried to approach them both. Cassandra had wanted to slay the beast where it stood, but he had managed to dissuade her. Solas had, by complete chance, managed to calm it by speaking to it in old elven tongue, how on earth it understood it when his people had forgotten it was a question for another day. For now, it was sufficient enough that it did not attack the soldiers.

Despite that, it amused him how people who had hours ago wished to execute what they believed to be a demon, now fell to their knees in seeming worship.

"What do you reckon is that thing, Chuckles?" The child of the Stone asked him as they followed after the stretcher, gesturing at the angry fire...cat.

"I...am unsure." He answered, observing the creature. It looked like a rage demon in the shape of a large feline, but it was able to control its actions, unlike the spirits driven mad by entering this plane. Its charred body protected by metal armor in a similar style as its apparent master, a handle was forged onto the back of the armor. The mane of fire crackled around its neck — yet one more strange curiosity this thing brought with it. "It is neither a spirit nor a demon I have ever encountered."

"Oh, that's helpful." The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Just what I wanted to hear."

"You asked me a question, and I answered to the best of my abilities." Solas retorted as the gates of Haven closed behind them. More people dropped to their knees or saluted as the soldiers carrying the creature passed them.

It seems the creature's actions had completely reshaped their thoughts about it, so much that they gave it its separate cabin. "I need a drink;" Varric grumbled, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You two want to keep me company?" The dwarf questioned.

"Apologies, master Tethras, but I am required elsewhere." Solas excused himself, leaving the two to head over to the cabin.

And just in time, it seems, as the people of Haven began bombarding the two with questions. A large group even formed around the two. He passed the soldiers as they exited the cabin in a hurry, greeting him with a nod of their heads and a frightened expression as they went on their way. Solas quirked an eyebrow and closed the cabin door behind him.

"You darned animal, get off!"

He turned and what greeted him was probably the strangest sight he had witnessed in a while. The creature lied on the bed, its legs extending well past it, and the head propped up on multiple pillows to not damage anything with its horns. The large feline had made itself comfortable right on top of it, seemingly rumbling in amusement as Adar did his best to try and get it off, Solas spotted untouched dried meat on the floor as Adar tried to tug the beast off, to no effect.

"Come on, shoo! Get!" Adar turned to look at Solas with annoyance painting his features. "You talk to spirits, right? Tell this brute to get off." He waved his arm at the feline, who playfully swatted at his hand, causing him to retract it quickly. "Darn demon won't let me close to it."

"I have reasons to doubt this creature is a demon," Solas informed, side-stepping over the meat to close the distance.

"Well, whatever it is, I can't make it get off," Adar grumbled, going over to the desk on the other side of the cabin to check on his potions.

The feline watched him approach, and Solas felt as if it was judging him with two burning eyes. "Would you get off the bed, friend?" He asked, but the feline just snorted, flicking one burned ear. "We can't help him unless you get off." He tried again, motioning to the ground with his index finger.

That seemed to get a reaction or at least some sort of recognition, leading Solas to believe that maybe this beast had been trained. The cat grumbled and shuffled about before the front half of it plopped on the wooden floor with a thud, but its backside remained firmly planted on the creature's thighs.

Maybe not that well trained. Solas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing the feline rumble a soft chuff. "Please, get off the bed fully." He stressed, pointing his finger by the fireplace.

The cat snorted and got off the bed entirely, almost glaring as it meandered to plump its hindquarters down next to the fire. It straightened up, poised like the best-trained war hound, taking careful vigil over the creature.  
"So, you got it down?" Adan questioned, surprised as he carried some potions over to the bedside table. "Unruly beast." He muttered as he passed the feline again.

"It is much easier when one does not insult them," Solas stated, leaning his staff by the bed to reach out and touch the armor. He heard Adan mutter something under his breath but let the man be, instead of focusing on feeling the magic of the armor.

It seemed that the Pride Demon had drained what magic enchantment was attached to the suit of dark metal. Strangely, he could not see any runes to benefit such a strong enchantment, and though a red light glowed beneath the stomach plates, the space would have been far too small to fit a rune there. His brows furrowed as he reached for a strap he could see under one plate, and to his relief, no harm came to his hand. "It seems the enchantment on the armor is gone," Solas called over his shoulder to the apothecary.

"Hm?" Adan hummed, putting a few elfroot potions on the table. "Good, maybe we can finally see what's under that armor." He went back across the room and brought a few more potions. Judging by the creature's size and the battle they had just left, they would need a dragon's dose to fix it up.

With that thought, the two got to work. It took the two men some time to figure out how the armor was attached, as little in the way of belts or straps could be seen on the outside, but then they figured out that there was a harness system underneath the plates that held them affixed to the creature's body, instead of a much simpler design most soldiers wore. With each piece of metal they removed, more of the strange anatomy was revealed.

"It's male," Adan observed, pointing at the loincloth they had found under the armor and underclothes. Its torso was wrapped in bandages which they found had been wrapped over some sort of green paste, it clung to their fingers when they tried to wash it off, coming off in clumps with stray scales mixed up in them. Black scales covered the broad chest and muscular torso which strangely lacked a navel and nipples; pale discoloration marked the places where it had previously sustained damage. Various designs marked the torso and arms of the creature, glowing faintly in the dim light as if to take the eye away from the damages underneath.

"Those are some big teeth marks." Adan whistles, pointing a row of similarly sized marks that went around the waist, pinkish flesh peeking beneath freshly growing scales. So this was a fresh wound. "Wonder what did that." Adan wondered, mostly to himself, as they rolled the thing onto its side to gain access to its back.

"Indeed." Solas nodded, but what struck a chord with him were the multiple crisscrossing lines that practically made up the creature's entire back, jagged and long; a whip left these marks, no doubt about it. He could see the marks on its wrists, large jagged circles formed from wearing chains far too small for one's hands, but they were far too old for it to have gained them in the Seeker's dungeon. It reminded him too much of his people when the self-proclaimed gods ruled with an iron fist, when his people walked with carved open backs and shackled wrists, when the tyrants had staked their claim on the faces of the slaves, when —

He shook his head as Adan reached for the things' helmet, held on by a complex spider web of leather strapped around every large horn, only to have the large feline they had mostly ignored until now shove itself between him and the bed and nearly take his hand off before he could do anything to it.

"Oh, you darn thing." The man grumbled, trying to move around it only to be pushed back by the feline. "Oh, fine!" He growled, throwing his hands into the air. "I won't touch the helmet."

The cat grumbled, glancing at Solas, before going back to its place near the fire.

Solas chuckled softly as Adan glared at the feline, beginning to see about healing what injuries it sustained.

* * *

  
  
Later that night, when the thing was in a stable condition and Adan had suggested he go rest, Solas slipped into the Fade, he had many questions, and only Knowledge could have some idea about it.

Most mages could only see the Fade as it was in a given location, but he could do far more, traverse further and without restrictions. With a thought, the Fade around him shifted, ruined paths and broken halls formed around him, shelves full of dusty books seeping out of the blank walls to let old tomes float through the air.   
A shadow of its former glory.

A lone spirit floated through the halls, humming softly to themselves. They stopped when they sensed his presence. "Aneth ara, my friend." Knowledge greeted him. Knowledge took on a form of an old, white-haired elven man, dressed in the robes of a scholar from centuries-long past.

"Aneth ara, Knowledge." Solas greeted in kind, smiling softly.

"Is there something I can help you with, friend?" Knowledge questioned, a few books floating around them, rearranging themselves into the shelves as others were pulled out by an unseen force. "Perhaps you have something new to me?"

"Indeed." He nodded his head. "I encountered a creature I do not know anything about." He explained, "It is sentient and able to use magic." He focused, and his mind made a copy of the creature he had met appear next to them, alongside the feline. "I was hoping you would know of it?" He questioned, eager to know more.

"Oh?" The spirit hummed, floating in closer to circle around the thing, multiple books floating up, a wind seemingly flicking trough them, before placing them back into the shelves. "Where did you find such a creature?" Knowledge asked curiously.

"After the dark spawn's failed attempt to destroy the veil." Solas began, his face twisting in an expression of sadness. "I was searching the ruined temple for my orb, I heard some kind of voice, everyone did, it seems." He spoke, memories running before his eyes of that faithful event. "Some kind of magic, but it shook the earth beneath my feet. The Breach grew was encircled by yellow magic." He motioned to the strange beasts, "The tall one shot out of the Breach, which then became even bigger."

"So that is what caused it?" Knowledge muttered, his eyes narrowed as he quickly looked through an old tome. "Every spirit in the Fade had sensed a tremendous surge of power as it happened." He scowled and let the tome float away, "But none of us knew what caused it."

"Could it be an old spirit of the Fade?" Solas asked, he only knew of a handful of demons old and strong enough to be able to use such a large amount of magic, but none of them fit the description of this thing, and at the very least their physical form would have been far larger than the mystery creature.

"I'm doubtful of that." The spirit hummed but eventually shook its head. "I am nearly as old as you, my friend, yet this is the first time I encounter something like this." They sighed and regarded him with a gentle smile. "I will try to search to the best of my abilities, but it will take time." Knowledge stated, floating back to him.

"Thank you none the less, my friend." Solas nodded with a frown.

"I will admit, I am curious." Knowledge, hummed. "This creature uses magic I have never seen before, if it was lost to time..." He mumbled, and Solas could see their head swimming with ideas. "Perhaps it would be beneficial to rediscover such powers?"

"Be careful, Knowledge." Solas frowned, placing a hand on their spectral shoulder. "You may become corrupt, ma falon."

Knowledge chuckled softly, patting his hand. "I have survived the winds of time before, do not worry about me." They smiled. "But if it will soothe your nerves, I will be careful in observing when the creature dreams."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "The creature passed out after trying to seal the breach." He started, looking around. With a mark on their hand, their dream should have been as bright as the sun. "They should be dreaming about now." It was odd, usually, people, even when they passed out, dreamed.

"Perhaps the Breach had something to do with it?" Knowledge shrugged, hugging him quickly, which he returned, before backing away, excited smile on their old face. "Return to me in a few days; maybe then I will know more."

"Thank you, ma falon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aneth ara - a greeting amongst friends.  
> Ma falon - my friend.


	4. They Asked: Will You Help?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And for some ungodly reason, he agreed.

He felt strange —

Everything was black, blacker than his scales, blacker than the bottomless pit of a well. Black — as a night without stars. Black — as the chitin of the Curruid and it’s vile spawn. So black — as if the sea had had enough of his crimes and swallowed him whole, and this inky abyss was the prison. A prison of his own design, without bars or walls to break, without a lock to pick, without a key to steal. A cage for a monster all monsters feared. 

He felt every breath as it escaped his lungs, knew he took in breaths as they left him… and yet he didn’t feel his chest move, didn’t feel his ribs press against his skin or his lungs contract as the air crawled up his throat. No air left his nose, nor did it burn his lungs. Was he even breathing?

He felt heavy. His bones strained with the effort to support his flesh as if they made him of ebony, felt something push him down, like heavy rocks that fell from a significant height, try to bring him down into the inky abyss. Yet his body didn’t move with the force, didn’t sink into the darkness. Didn’t push back against it either. Just...made him endure this growing weight on his limbs, tethering on the edge between pulling him down and keeping him up.

_**“Hail,** **murderer** **.”** _

A voice echoed around him, yet his body refused to move, refused to see where the voice came from — as if placing a face to that voice would have killed him, even when he already knew who it was. 

_**“Scared, butcher?”** _

Something moved in the darkness — no, it was the darkness that moved, crawled towards him, like a living wave of sheer black.

The darkness grew to suffocate, made him feel so small while it grew larger than life itself. It molded and shifted, and silhouettes took shape, giant beasts, each one uglier than the last, boasting claws and tendril and gnashing jaws. He could feel the rage, the sorrow, the grief, the hate.

_**“Good.”** _

His mind reeled. In between the monsters the shape of a woman materialized, the blackness surrounding her like a shroud, a cloak of hatred that twisted and turned this way and that.

Long tentacles reached from the darkness, writhing like worms, or bloodsucking leeches. The darkness encompassed him, pulsing, growing, screeching, screaming —

**_“You will atone, murderer.”_ **

— Tentacles wretched past his teeth, he struggled as he choked, yet his body didn’t move. Tears pricked his eyes as he felt the inky blackness invade his lungs, more of them slithering up his limbs like snakes, surrounding, suffocating, crushing his lungs, his throat, his bones, his body —

**_“A thousand lives. That is how much you owe me.”_ **

Her voice echoed from the darkness, and now it was her hands around his throat, her hatred burning his lungs, her grief weighing down his bones, her sorrow stabbing his chest.

**_“But this world will provide a better punishment than I.”_ **

She stared at him; her form battered, broken, unstable, yet her eyes — her eyes held fury, hatred. The sorrow of a mother hidding behind the stone-cold eyes of a judge.

Her hands tightened around his throat, letting no sound escape his lungs.

_**“So. Open. Your. Eyes.”** _

Malik woke with a start, his eye flying wide open as a half-broken gasp tore through his lungs. He sat up, legs stumbling as he swung them to reach the ground, body wrenching in a coughing fit.

His hands flew to his head, and he froze. Chilly hands moved against similarly cold metal, catching on stray edges and protruding horns as they mapped the contours of his helmet. He released a shaky breath as he lowered his arms to rest in his lap and looked down at his trembling hands. His palms were red, red like blood and the ash of Morrowind and Coldharbour and, and —

He blinked — Obsidian’s head rested in his lap, his hands supporting the cats’ burnt cheeks. Almost automatically, his hands moved to take off the helmet, undoing the straps to the best of his abilities. He heard it drop on the ground, his trembling hands now rubbing Obsidian’s head.

The cat chuffed, nuzzling closer, his fiery mane providing a stable heat source to Malik’s icy body.

“Hey...” Malik heard a voice — _his_ voice — say. His throat felt raw and dry, like the dessert in Hammerfell.

Obsidian purred and heaved himself higher up Malik’s body, lightly nuzzling and licking at his helmet while his body acted as a furnace. So much so Malik almost thought he could see steam rising from their bodies. He wound his arms around Obsidian, pressing his helmet covered face into the fiery mane.

Malik didn’t know how long he sat like this, concentrating on breathing, the purring cat a stable heat source on his lap. He breathed in, silently counting in his head before releasing the air when it burned his lungs. The ticking in his ears slowly faded until he could no longer make it out from the cacophony of everything that surrounded him.

A door creaking open had his head snapping to look at it, the fire of a spell building up in his palm without a second thought.

A youthful Bosmer woman strolled in, holding a crate in her hands. When she spotted him, she jumped, dropping the crate in surprise, where it shattered.

Malik narrowed his eye at the Bosmer — lithe meager thing, her body frail and long-limbed, eyes full of too much innocence, young too, not much of a thief, horrendous as far as assassins go — before he slowly lowered his arm, canceling the spell.

“Where am I?” He questioned, happy that, at least, his helmet made him sound a lot less weak than he felt.

The adolescent girl blinked, and just like a rabbit, darted off from where she came from, leaving the mess on the floor in favor of running like Oblivion was behind her. Malik felt the urge of the chase, now more than ever, but grunted and shook his head as he heard the wind slam the door shut behind him. With a whistle and a hand gesture, he got Obsidian off him and affixed the helmet back to the cats’ head.

Getting himself to stand was a little harder.

He planted his long legs on the ground and pushed off of the bed, stumbling like a newborn foal. Luckily, Obsidian was by his side, providing a stable force to ensure he didn’t topple over.

“Thank you,” Malik muttered to the cat, holding onto the handle on Obsidian’s back as a wave of nausea hit him. He scrunched his face and shuddered, waiting for it to pass.

Once it did, he quickly glanced around, before his eyes zeroed in on the black armor lying in the corner next to a desk.

“Guard.” He commanded, going over to his armor. He heard Obsidian grumble behind him, but he paid the cat little mind, fully concentrated on checking over his gear.

It looked like everything was in order. His harness was intact, and no plates were missing. Even the bag he had spent five seconds enchanting was there! The only thing _missing_ was his loincloth, of all things...

“I don’t know about you, my friend.” He called over his shoulder, beginning to pull off what, presumably, his captors had dressed him in. He wore some embroidery cloth shirt that itched like Oblivion and breeches that were far too tight around his crotch and arse — like those party clothes Delphine had dressed him up in. He chuckled at the memory, despite how it gnawed on his heart and made his head ache. “But I say we get out of here while we still can.” He continued his thought.

The cat rumbled softly.

Malik scoffed, pulling on his more comfortable breeches before fiddling with the black leather harness he wore underneath the armor, methodically putting it on, starting with the chest and going outwards to his limbs. “I know we may look more suspicious if we leave,” With the harness fully on, he went to put on his armor. “But I don’t particularly fancy my head being chopped off.”

The cat grumbled and chuffed, flicking an ear in his direction.

“Well, the likelihood of Alduin sweeping in to save me from execution a _second_ time is close to none.” Malik countered.

Obsidian glanced over to him, rumbling, before turning back to his post of guarding the door.

Malik looked down at his hand — it no longer hurt, despite the magic of it occasionally dancing like a maiden to the tune of a bard. But he could almost feel it worm its way deeper into his flesh, into his bones, spreading slowly like a disease into his soul...if he still had one.

“I’ll figure it out.” Malik sighed and pulled on a gauntlet over the offending hand.

He threw a quick glance around the room. Whoever build this cabin had made small windows on each side of the cabin, letting in the occasional cool breeze, a strange design choice if one was hoping to hold in heat, he had to admit it. The decorations were odd, with goat hides hung on the walls and an eye razing rug on the floor, and a fire blazed in the fireplace. The bed he had slept on was nice looking but held minor comfort as if they pilfered it straight from Solitude. Books and bottles and other knick-knacks were strewn about on shelves and bookcases, but they didn’t particularly catch his attention.

Obsidian growled, causing his head to turn at the door.

The Altmer he had met previously came in. He stepped around the broken box but stopped when Obsidian growled at him. He spoke something. A greeting, perhaps?

Malik tilted his head, whistling softly, which calmed Obsidian down, but he didn’t move from his position.

Wordlessly, the elf lifted his hand, casting a blue orb of magic, much like Magelight, right over Malik’s head.

And his voice made sense again. 

“It is good to see you awake.” The elf spoke warmly. “We weren’t expecting you to wake so soon.”

Malik tensed slightly, did they want him alive before cutting his head off? Make him feel safe and stable before tearing him down with an execution? “And who is this we?” He questioned, subconsciously looking for a plausible way out or around the elf if a problem arose.

“That would be me and the local apothecary, Adar.” The elf answered, and to Malik’s trained ears, he spoke the truth. But the elf didn’t elaborate on it, which, to Malik, was almost as bad as saying they would chop his head off.

“This does not look like a dungeon or a jail cell,” Malik stated, once again looking around the cabin, both to put emphasis to his point and recheck for an escape route. “Where am I?”

“You are in Haven. The Soldiers carried you back after you collapsed.” Solas pointed at Obsidian, “And this one hasn’t left your side since you arrived here.” The cat rumbled softly, flicking a burnt ear.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Malik relaxed slightly, Obsidian walking over to rub himself on his leg, causing that small horrid sound of metal grinding against metal.

“About a day or two.” Solas looked at him, some kind of emotion in his eyes. “We thought you would sleep for longer. The extent that you had to exert yourself to close the Breach would have made most sleep for weeks.”

“I heal fast.” Malik shrugged one shoulder, hand resting firmly on Obsidian’s handle. “Are they not intending to execute me?”

“Seeker Pentaghast had convinced Chancellor Roderick to hold off any persecution while you were resting, considering the Breach had stopped growing.” He smiled, “She would like to speak to you, however.”

Malik nodded slowly, trying to take everything in. Good, maybe he had enough time to get out of here before they chopped his head off. “And where is she?”

“She should be in the Chantry.” The elf answered.

Malik deadpanned. He didn’t even know what the Chantry was, let alone where in Tamriel it was.

The elf looked at his armor, raising an eyebrow. “There were some clothes for you in the wardrobe, Lady Josephine had asked that you wear them.”

“I prefer my armor,” Malik answered plainly, almost with no emotions attached to the statement. Like Oblivion he would wear anything _but_ his armor. “Would you be able to show me the way to the Chantry? I’m not sure if I will find it on my own, my memory is still a little, blurry.” Devines, he hated acting weak, made him look almost as stupid as he felt. The Altmer just smiled, “It would be my pleasure, Herald.” He turned to his heel, stopping at the door and motioning for Malik to go through first.

Herald? Herald of what? Like a Harbinger? Even more, things he didn’t understand. Great.

Malim clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, hand gripping the handle on the back of Obsidian’s armor when the cat straightened up next to him. He glanced at the elf as he opened the door and stepped through, Obsidian staying close to him.

_Oh, Sheogorath’s cheese wheels!_

Before him were two soldiers, heads bowed and hands over their hearts, standing on either side of a small staircase, at the bottom which tens of people gathered on the outside of a worn dirt path, more soldiers stationed around the very edge.

He tensed, gripping the handle tightly. Glancing behind him, he saw the elf smile at him, motioning for him to lead. Great.

Malik nodded and turned back to the path, heading down the path. As he neared the front-most soldiers the detect life spell decided now was the perfect time to flare up. He bit back the slight growl. All the people lighting up a mix of red and yellow light made the ache in his head return with a vengeance of a thousand suns.

“ _That’s him, that’s the Herald of Andraste.”_ Malik heard some villagers say as he passed, whispering to a group of other villagers. “ _They say he’s a demon that rebelled against his kind, and when he stepped out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him.”_

_“Don’t demons need a body to inhabit? This one doesn’t look like a human.”_

_“Maybe the Maker made him a body when he turned his back on the demons?”_

A woman hushed the group, “ _We shouldn’t disturb him.”_

Malik felt a ball form in his chest, vile, and bubbling with anxiety. Rebel demon? Andraste? Herald!? What in the names of the Nine did he get himself _into_? He felt Obsidian press closer to him, his warmth washing over Malik, softening the stone ball in his throat.

_“Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.”_ Another villager questioned in hushed whispers.

_“It’s complicated.”_ Another woman, priestess? answered. _“We were all frightened at the explosion at the Conclave.”_

Malik glanced back at Solas, who at this point was following close behind him. He tilted his head, but Solas merely motioned him to go up the stairs, giving away nothing for the silent question Malik was asking.

“You seem surprised, Herald,” Solas stated as they walked up the stairs.

“Mine tends to be a thankless job.” And it was. He could count on one hand the number of times people so much as said a thank you when he stopped yet another world-ending threat. “Why did they say I was a rebel demon?”

“Because to them, you look like one,” Solas answered. “They saw you, an enormous creature no one has seen before, fighting the demons and stopping the Breach from spreading, and they associated you, for a demon.”

Malik stopped at the top of the stairs, the ball in his chest growing even bigger. “But I am Argonian, not Daedra.” He argued softly.

Solas nodded his head, stopping in front of him. “That is true, but believing you are a demon who rebelled gives them hope.” Noticing how Malik tilted his head, form tense, the elf elaborated further. “Hope that their Maker hadn’t abandoned them, that Andraste send someone to help them, that everything might be all right.”

Malik snorted at those words. “Too many people believe a lie, it will become the truth.”

“You are correct, Herald.” Solas agreed with him. “I’m afraid I have to leave you now. Seeker Cassandra should be waiting for you in the Chantry.” He pointed at the enormous stone structure on top of the hill.

Malik frowned, but slowly nodded his head. “Thank you, Solas.” With those words he turned and headed for the temple, resisting the urge to look behind him. 

_“Still a lot of rifts left all over. Little cracks in the sky. He can seal those, though. The Herald of Andraste.”_

_“Someone had better. You won’t seal those rifts with the chant of Light.”_

Malik felt their eyes follow him, stuck on his back like he had a target painted on it. He grounded his teeth against one another, increasing his pace slightly, the urge to shift and run crossing his mind once or twice, but he never acted on it. Herald — he only heard them call him that a few times, and already he hated it. 

He passed the priests and priestesses of this temple, who didn’t look happy to see him.

_Feeling’s mutual..._

Multiple signatures lit up as he walked down the carpet-covered floor of the temple, which felt like the builders were compensating for something by making it so big and grand. He could see five people in the room directly in front of him and hear as two voices arguing. Loudly. About his _execution_.

Obsidian rumbled and licked his gauntlet covered hand, sensing how Malik’s nerves were acting up again. “Here goes nothing.” Malik sighed and went into the room, Obsidian staying next to him.

He didn’t even get to say anything before the old priest commanded. “Chain it. I want this thing prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Malik held up his hand, fire gathering in his palm. “I would advise against it.” He spoke calmly, glancing at the two soldiers, who were now as tense as bowstrings around him.

“Disregard the Chancellor.” Cassandra commanded, “And leave us.”

Malik lowered his arm and canceled the spell, watching the two soldiers, who wore heavier armor compared to the ones he had previously seen, salute, and walk out of the room.

“You have too much trust in this _beast_.” The priest sneered.

“A beast would have slaughtered you like a lamb by now, _priest_.” Malik countered, coming closer to the table to glare down at the man. “Which can always be arranged, considering you intend to chop my head off.” As if to accent his words, Obsidian growled low, heaving himself up to his hind legs to show off his bulk, before falling back down to four limbs.

The Imperial’s eyes grew wide, and he took a step back, causing Malik to chuckle loudly, gently patting Obsidian on the back.

“Was that necessary?” Cassandra questioned, unamused, yet unafraid, somehow knowing that Malik didn’t _actually_ intend to bring any harm to the old man… for now.

“Apologies,” Malik clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “But we couldn’t help ourselves.”

“You walk a dangerous path, Seeker.” The priest warned, watching Malik wearily, yet having gotten past his fear enough to find his voice.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” Cassandra warned, coming closer to the priest.

Gods, these adults were acting like children. Even now, they looked mere moments away from another argument.

Malik sighed loudly, bringing their attention back on himself. “Out with it then.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is it you need from me?”

“You have done enough.” The old priest told him, all the while glaring daggers. “Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine.” It felt as if the priest wasn’t saying everything on his mind, biting his tongue in case Malik did well on his threat. Good, priests were always more of a bother than they were worth.

“Have care, Chancellor.” Cassandra scowled, forcing out words through gritted teeth. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

The red-haired woman stepped into their conversation before they got a chance to say anything else. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave.” She explained, before pointedly looking at the priest. “Someone Most Holly did not expect. Perhaps they died with the other — or have allies who still live.”

“ _I_ am a suspect?” The old man questioned, enraged by the mere notion of the thought.

“You, and many others.” The woman glared at him.

“But _not_ that beast?!”

“Watch yourself, priest,” Malik warned calmly, his one eye glaring down at the man, who shrunk under his gaze.

“I heard the voices in the Temple. He tried to free the Devine, she called to _him_ for help.” Malik smiled under his helmet when Cassandra argued in his stead.

“So its’ survival, that thing on its’ hand — All a coincidence?” The priest crossed his arms, glaring at Cassandra.

“Providence.” Cassandra countered, “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

Malik froze and tensed, gripping his forearm. Now they thought he was sent by a god?! Are you kidding him? This was quickly becoming a living nightmare, derailing further and further into places he didn’t want to go. “That is debatable.” He said more to himself than them, but it was still loud enough to hear.

“We are all subject to the will of the Maker, whether or not we wish it.” Cassandra frowned. “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed, when we needed it.” She spoke before turning to her heel and walking to a table near the wall.

The only problem was he didn’t know what the Maker was, Daedra couldn’t meddle in things on such a scale without a massive invasion and the Aedra rarely got off their arse to do anything, certainly not something related to the Hist, those things only survived in Black Marsh and most _defiantly_ not a Star Spawned or Old one, he was certain he killed every last one of those things. Could that be another name for a Daedra? Sure, but that was unlikely, Daedra didn’t do good.

“The Breach remains, and your mark is still the only hope of closing it.” The red-haired woman explained.

“This is _not_ for you to decide!” The old man argued.

Cassandra stopped whatever he was going to say next by slamming a book on the table. Obsidian jumped from where he had been sitting, but Malik gently calmed him down with a few pats on the head.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra asked, pointing at the book.

Malik glanced at it — it was big, the pages yellow from age, the same as the leather binding the book. The only thing that looked like they had cleaned it was the sun iconography on the cover of the book — “Light reading?” Malik suggested with a smile on his lips, even when they could not see it.

The red-haired woman chuckled lightly, while Cassandra rolled her eyes. “No. It’s a writ from the Devine, granting us the authority to act.” The woman straightened up, “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” And then she advanced on the old priest who backed away from her. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order, with or without your approval.” She jabbed a finger into his chest.

The priest glanced between her and Malik, who only regarded him with a cocked head, before he stormed off, leaving the four of them in peace, thank the Devines.

Cassandra looked like she wanted to follow him, but stepped back, looking away. The red-haired woman came to stand across the table from him. “This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the chaos.” Malik tilted his head and narrowed his eye, a thin frown forming behind his helmet — something felt off. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.” Ah, so that’s what that feeling was.

“But we have no choice: we must act now.” Cassandra turned to him, uttering the word he so dreaded to hear. “With you at our side.”

Malik frowned, breathing in heavily. “You sound like you wish to start a war.”

“We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is already upon you.” Cassandra countered his statement, shaking her head slightly.

Malik couldn’t help himself, he chuckled at her statement. He had seen what war looked like, what destruction it brought, what plagues came after such conflict. This — was not war — the flickers of an ember that might start one, yes, but not a war.

“What do you think?” Malik looked down at his friend, only to receive a soft rumble and a flick of one ear. “Of course.” He rolled his eye, gently patting the cat on his head. Then he sighed, and glanced at his palm, contemplating what to do next, before he finally looked back at the two women, who were waiting for him to respond. “Look, I’m not one for fighting behind a rallied cause.” He spoke, his voice soft, distant to his own ears. “But, if this helps your people,” He held out his hand for Cassandra. “We’ll stay to help you fix this mess.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra grasped his hand, so much larger than her own, 

And so this supposed inquisition was born.

* * *

_12th of Last Seed, 205 of the 4th era?_

_Nothing is making sense, but when does it ever in this life of mine?_

_It’s been two days and a half since the mess that got me in this situation. Still don’t know what happened, last thing I remember is speaking to Brynjolf, memory gets a little cloudy after that, but I remember speaking with a Psijic, figures they would have something to do with this, must have put a memory block on my mind or something. Probably still have their noble ruffles in a twist over the tome. But that hole…_

_Cassandra said she would find me when I’m needed. For official matters, she says. Apparently, she needs to get a writ of acceptance from that Chantry thing (still don’t know who they worship, not the nine, that’s for sure) or something like that. Not too sure, didn’t really listen._ _Would ask Cassandra about sparring, but she’s been busy, don’t want to disturb her. Guess I’ll have time later, not like Mundus will end. I hope._

_More people flock to this place like lambs, faithful, Solas had called them, don’t think I like them. They stare and whisper, and it makes my skin crawl. Been avoiding their temple like it was full of Peryite’s faithful. Their name for me, Herald - Herald of Andraste or Alessia or whatever- hate that one too. Somehow makes me feel more empty than Dragonborn. And they said changing names every century is key to spicing up life._

_Since they don’t need me for now, I and Obsidian spent most of our time hunting for this village. There’s some goat elk thing, ugly like the night is long, that’s native to this land. Good meat, Obsidian likes it, bones not good for carving though, but keeps the beast blood content enough to ensure I sleep light at nights. Most of what we catch goes straight to the tavern, so that’s good, not too sure in what they were serving before, don’t think I want to find out. Most soldiers are_ ̷a̷ ̷l̷i̷t̷t̷l̷e̷ really _terrified to spar with me, so it’s mostly just me and Obsidian._

_Some hunter I met, nice lad but inexperienced, strange that he didn’t mention Hircine during our talk even once, said that the Chantry doesn’t like spirits. Guess he meant Obsidian. Made it clear if they hurt him I’d do something horrible. Put their religion to the sword. Send them to Coldharbour, let Molag Bal have his fun…_

_Oh right, I got my equipment back, can’t believe they call a novice lock on the door, and a sleepy guard the safest place in Haven. Charge on the pack is almost drained, must have tried to get in it, going to need to recharge it next time I hunt something._

_I’ve held some conversations with the elf, Solas, thought me a temporary spell of communication, don’t trust him much. He talks about spirits and Daedra like they’re friends, but that’s the least of it that’s worrying me. He knows some spells that the Psijic’s had outlawed, don’t know how one would get the knowledge for it without doing what I did or striking a deal with old Herma-Mora. Don’t know what it is, but he just irks me in the wrong way. It’s like...I look at him, and I see Miraak, I see Harkon; I see Molag Bal; _I̷ ̷s̷e̷e̷ ̷m̷y̷s̷e̷l̷f̷

_Haven’t really had a talk with Varric since the whole Breach fiasco, he doesn’t seem like the other Dwemer I met, strange he hadn’t cut and run, only worry is I don’t accidentally trip over him, short as a Skeever he is. Which is strange? Maybe Dwemer here developed differently, like Falmer and Rieklings? Or maybe one of them pissed on a Daedra’s shrine, got cursed like the Dunmer, who knows._

_From what I can gather from the villagers and the occasional hunter, magic is feared here, explains why Cassandra and most soldiers don’t trust me. And there’s only four races, humans, elves, dwarves, and Qunari, so my situation is even worse, so I stand out more than usual._

_Why did I even agree to this? You would think after 100 years one would learn to say no? But apparently not, because I have a bloody bleeding heart. What a mess._

“You writing a tragedy or something Scales?”

Malik looked up from his journal, glancing around the tavern.

“Down here, scales.” His ears perked up, and he looked down to see Varric standing next to him, a bottle of ale in his hand.

“Greetings, Varric.” Malik greeted him, motioning for the chair opposite his.

“So, you writing a tragedy or something?” Varric asked, getting himself comfortable in the chair, forcing Malik to bite back the amused chuckle at seeing someone so short try to get up on a high stool, like a child reaching for the sweet roll on — He closed his eye and held his breath, feeling like a stone was rolling in his chest, making it tighten, air burning his lungs. 

“What makes you say that?” Malik questioned as he closed his journal, letting out the breath he was holding.

“You’re so gloomy, there’s a rain cloud over your head.” Varric joked, taking a sip of his ale.

Malik snorted. “I was wondering where that wet dog smell was coming from.” He pointedly looked over to the cat lying at his feet munching on a leg of whatever that goat elk thing was.

“So, what’s with the armor?” Varric questioned. “I’ve never seen you out of it. Or without the helmet.”

“Helmet, because it’s a lengthy process to take it off and on again,” Malik explained, packing up the stick of charcoal and journal into the bag by his feet. “Armor, because when wayward maidens see what is underneath they screech and run a mile in the opposite direction.” Despite how his helmet muffled his voice, the tone was jovial, amused even.

Varric gave a bout of laughter at his comment and Malik joined in, giving a few heartfelt chuckles of his own. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Prayed the maid before her date with the Stableboy.” Malik countered, grinning behind his helmet.

Varric looked at him, eyes wide before the both of them burst out laughing in a fit of laughter, giggling like little children.

And so they went on, talking and cracking a few jokes that turned into bouts of laughter. Malik took his chance to ask a lot of questions about the dwarves, trying to remember all that Varric told him, but when asked about his fascination, he told him he had spent no time around Dwarves. Varric, in turn, asked some questions about Argonians, which Malik had a tougher time explaining on the count of not remembering much about his race, but managed to do so without giving away too many things about himself. Varric tried to offer him an ale, but he declined politely, ordering a bowl of meat for Obsidian who was just finishing the animal leg.

When the bowl of meat arrived, he took a chunk of meat and looked at it, unsure of what it was. “Dare I ask, what is it?” He questioned Varric while Obsidian practically slobbered for it.

“Probably nug.” Varric shrugged, chuckling when the man in front of him expressed such an emotion of disgust that it was obvious trough his armor, quickly dropping the meat back into the bowl.

Malik stalled and looked at Obsidian, who had now positioned himself to rest his large head on the table and giving Malik his best version of puppy dog eyes, coupling that with a quickly wagging tail. Would have worked better had Obsidian been a dog and not an almost man-sized burning sabrecat. Malik sighed and put the bowl on the ground. “You’ve eaten worse, you damn cat.” He huffed, returning to his conversation with Varric. 

It was during a somewhat normal conversation, free of any inappropriate humor, that Cassandra walked up to them like a woman on a mission.

“Long time no see Seeker,” Varric greeted with a smirk, taking a sip of his ale.

“Hello, Varric.” Cassandra greeted him before turning to Malik. “We’re having a meeting about what to do about the Breach, you’re needed.” She told him.

Malik frowned, sighed, and nodded. “I suppose we’ll have to chat some other time, Varric,” Malik spoke and grabbed his bag, tossing a gold coin on the table before following Cassandra, a low whistle causing Obsidian to trail behind them with the animal leg clutched in his jaws.

* * *

Varric watched the trio leave, before looking down at the coin on the table. For all that Malik had bought, it would have cost him a few coppers!

Varric picked up the coin and tested it. His surprise only grew when it turned out to be pure gold. He inspected the coin closer — it was nothing like a Sovereign, with an impression of an old bearded man on one side, and a winged worm-like creature on the other side. Each side had some runic script on it, but in a language, he had never seen before. 

Varric pocketed the gold coin and tossed some coffers on the table. He needed to pay Ruffles a visit.

* * *

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked him as they walked down the red carpet of the Chantry.

Malik looked up from his hand, lowering it to grasp onto Obsidian’s handle. “There is unknown magic attached to my hand and I have no clue what it is, what it can do, where it comes from, or how I can get it rid off it,” Malik stated, stopping next to the woman. “So yes, it troubles me.”

“We will find a way to know more about it,” Cassandra promised. "What’s important is that your mark is now stable. As it the Breach." She looked up at him, looking right into his eye. "You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed — provided the mark has more power.”

“I am guessing it is not as simple as drinking a few restore Magicka potions?” Malik questioned.

“No," Cassandra shook her head. “We would need the same level of power used to open the Breach in the  first place.”

“And that does not come by often.” Malik hummed with a frown. “I suppose you have some kind of plan, no?”

“We do.” The woman nodded, motioning for him to follow her.

She lead him back to that room where he had agreed to help them. As they neared the door, he saw three life signatures light up, none of them looking like they were ready to ambush, thankfully. He followed her through the door, quickly glancing around. His nerves eased slightly when no further life signatures lit up aside from the three present in the room.

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces." She gestured to the man.

Malik’s eye narrowed down on him, the mere word bringing back unsavory memories of times long past. He looked like a Nord that spectacularly failed at growing a beard, in Malik’s humble opinion, but the look in his eye reminded him of Ulfric; of Tullius; a man who had seen loss and sorrow and war before — but somehow he was a unique breed of his own, bent but not broken, not completely, like cliff weathered by an unruly sea. _Interesting_ …

“Such as they are.” The man cleared his throat, glancing at Obsidian as the feline sat down next to Malik’s feet, before looking back up to him, doing his best to look him in the eye, yet his attempts fall short as he looks back at his helmet. “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.” He spoke solemnly.

Malik bit his lip at the mention of the dead soldiers but raised an eyebrow soon after. A commander that gave a damn about his troops? And here he thought the war had killed all of them.

“This is Lady Josaphine Montilyet,” Cassandra motioned to the woman on his right. “Our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

The short woman smiled, nervous, but kind, innocent even. “You’re…” She began, clearing her throat, her nervousness amusing him slightly. “… Even taller than I heard.” Malik actually chuckled at that, the corners of his mouth rising in a slight smile as he waved away her worry.

“And of course you know, Sister Leliana.” Cassandra motioned to the woman on the other side of him.

The woman nodded her head in greeting. “My position here involves a degree of…”

“I gather you are their spymaster,” Malik stated rather than guessed, petting Obsidian’s head lightly. The woman raised an eyebrow, a silent question on her lips. “It is not difficult to figure that one out,” He answered with a roll of his eye, before looking back at the two other humans. "Cassandra tells me you have a plan, let’s hear it.”

“Right,” The woman nodded. "I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana suggested, great, an angry mage was always a problem. Shooting destruction spells at you, no questions asked.

“And I still disagree.” The Nord argued, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword. “The templars could serve just as well.”

_Oh, not again._

Malik groaned internally as he listened to those two argue, Cassandra's joining in the argument making it even worse. It felt like he was back in High Hrothgar, forced to be the mediator between two lunatics who only cared about winning. He could still hear their voices, the intent to fight and kill hidden in their voices behind shallow curtains of civility; could still feel the rage bubbling in the pits of his stomach when neither side rose to shoulder the blame for the death they had caused. Could still— 

He felt the feline nip his hand gently, and he sighed loudly. He patted Obsidian’s head in an apology, “There is a saying in my homeland.” He began, gaining their attention. “Rush to take a shit in the woods, you’ll be eaten by bears.” He looked pointedly between the three of them, smirking at the looks of surprise, his amusement growing when the man choked on his own spit as if he had never heard such foul language before. Malik chuckled and looked at the ambassador. “Would either side be open to talking with us?” He questioned.

“Unfortunately, no.” Josephine shook her head, “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition — and you, specifically.” She motioned to Malik.

Malik tilted his head, his eye narrowing. “A word of a priest can’t possibly carry _that_ much weight.” He looked between the four humans. “Can it?”

“More than you think.” Leliana sighed.

“Some are calling you — an…” The woman flushed, having forgotten what species he was off.

“I am an Argonian.” He corrected her softly with a slight smile on his lips.

“Righ,” She nodded her head quickly, nervous, giddy almost. Like she was barely holding herself back from asking many, many questions. "Some call you the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That Frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we — heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra informed him.

He sighed, shaking his head. _Of course_. Priests are the worst, can’t hold a normal conversation with them without them calling you a heretic or taking up five hours with their ramblings, can’t punch them in the face in case the Devine they serve will retaliate with a curse, or turning you into a chicken if the priest serves a Daedric prince.

“So we can’t approach either side for help.” Malik summarised with a sigh. “Why do they call me this ‘Herald of Andraste’?” He questioned, “Wouldn’t my appearance lead to the contrary?” He motioned at his armor.

“And despite that, people saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from spreading. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that to was Andraste.” Great, just, just great.

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—” Leliana began, but Cassandra quickly cut her off.

“Which we have not.”

Leliana looked at Cassandra with discontent, “Point is, everyone, is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” The man asked, “How do you feel about it?”

Oh, he felt an impressive deal about it, none of which was good. “I stopped caring about titles a long time ago. Even those that brought hope to some and despair to others.” He shrugged, unsure if he was lying to them or himself, unsure if he hated the title of the weight it put on his shoulders; unsure if he could be that flicker of hope the people needed. “So is there anything we can do to sway their opinions enough to ask for aid?” He asked, shaking away those thoughts.

“There’s a Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle. She has asked to speak to you.” Leliana informed him. “She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance would be invaluable.”

“And how trustworthy is this priestess?” Malik crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It would not be the first time someone asked me for peace talk and I ended up having to pull a dagger from my ribs.” He grumbled, voice taking on a darker tone, a memory he wasn’t fond of passing through his mind for a second.

“She is a reasonable sort, but not deadly,” Leliana assured him. “From what I know, she does not condone violence. Any trouble you may face with her will not end in bloodshed.”

“That makes me worry more, not less.” Malik sighed, “Where is this priestess then? And how soon would I be able to leave in search for her.”

“You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinderlands near Redcliff.” Leliana leaned slightly, pointing to the map of the landmass. “The trek from here would take you about four days on foot to meet up with our scout group in the Hinderlands.”

“I, Varric, and Solas have volunteered to come along, alongside a couple of scouts." Cassandra stepped up to the table. “We’re able to leave before sunrise at the earliest.”

Malik frowned, he would have preferred to leave now, maybe summon Arvak to cut the travel time in half, but this would have to do. He slowly nodded his head. “Then we set out before sunrise. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”.

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you are there.” The man suggested, looking up at him, yet trying to avoid looking him in the eye.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.” The short woman added, causing him to chuckle lightly.

“Is that all?” He waited for them to say something more, but when silence greeted him, he nodded his head. “Then I bid you goodbye for now. I’ll be hunting in the woods if you need me.” He turned to his heel and left, Obsidian following him.

* * *

Cullen watched the creature leave with bated breath, waited until the beast followed suit, waited until the door closed and the air burned his lungs before he let it escape, felt it claw at his throat as it left his nose. His shoulders slackened and fell slightly, a familiar ache returning to his back from how tense he had held them.

“That was exciting!” Josephine grinned like a child.

Cassandra scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You cannot be serious.”

“He’s from a race we had never seen before! How would I not be serious?” The woman argued back, seconds away from beginning to dance from the excitement. “Do you think he would be open to questions? Oh, I have so many to ask him, did you see his pet, wasn’t he the cutest?”

Cullen breathed a slight laugh as she began to rant before Leliana stopped her. “I do not think you should go near…him. Not for now, at least.”

“You think it’s a danger?” Cullen questioned, slowly loosening the grip on his sword pommel.

“There was something about it,” Leliana frowned, a calculating look in her eyes. “It figured out my occupation, but hid far more than it said.”

“Are you thinking Ben-Hassrath?” Cassandra questioned, crossing her hands in front of her chest.

Leliana shook her head. “No, this is something beyond the Qunari.” 

She was right, this thing was not a Qunari.

He’d heard stories about Tal-Vashoth.

Deranged criminals hunted by the by Ben-Hassrath, that knew no morals, no bounds. More beast than an actual sentient creature, unable to be held accountable for their actions, knowing no guilt, no remorse — only the trill of another kill; finding joy in the death and suffering of others, violating bodies both alive and death for their own amusement.

When he had first heard those stories, they had made him sick to the pit of his stomach.

But this creature… it made him feel worse than those stories ever could.

It reminded him of old Chantry stories about the demons and Darkspawn, how they used to scare him when he was a child. This creature felt like it had crawled out of his nightmares.

Visually imposing, easily able to dwarf him in height and as stocky as a bear. It even looked like a beast, with legs bent and twisted like those of a dragon, with sickles rather than claws attached to each leg and a tail as black as its armor. Armor that was as black as a bottomless pit, with a glow of unnatural red underneath each plate. A multitude of horns sprouting from its head, like those of a high dragon, but not — like a crocked crown of thorns and spikes, fit for the vilest of demons.

But the worst part was that eye. Where Sister Leliana’s glare was icy, able to make a man subconsciously show her his fears, his lies, his insecurities, like slowly removing a bandage to expose his regrets to the elements, made him feel unsure of himself. This creatures' gaze was far worse than hers. It glowed in the darkness like sparkling gold jewels, alluring and forbidden, enticing a man by his worst sin of greed, yet when cast upon you — it felt like looking into the eye of a dragon. Its haunting gleam felt like it saw right through your chest, right through your soul, made you want to confess every transgression, every lie you told, every thought you had. It made you feel small, meek, insignificant like you were prey.

So _why_ did that gaze make his knees go weak; make him feel like he would have gotten lost in that gaze had he kept looking, make him nearly lose his voice so badly he had to catch himself before he spouted out something stupid like a fool.

“So what do you suggest?” He asked, doing his best to shake away those thoughts out of his head.

“Monitor it, Cassandra, meanwhile myself and Josephine will see what we can find out about our mystery creature,” Leliana suggested, gaining a nod from Cassandra and an eager smile from Josephine. 

Leliana was right, this was worse than the Qunari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, new Wednesday, new chapter. This one got a little longer than the previous few, but you tell me how this one felt :)
> 
> Side note, don't know why, but the time of posting and updates is a little weird and I can't seem to be able to fix it, so that's bloody strange.


	5. Just screenshot of what Malik's body looks like, feel free to ignore.

Not an actual chapter, rather just a little visual aid of what Malik's body mostly looks like. Feel free to skip this chapter since it's just screenshots. Who coulda guessed that an old pirate tomb is a perfect place for a photo shoot :D? 


	6. So we set out to travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what a bad decision that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup peeps, been a while huh?
> 
> I've been busy with finishing up school and the whole Aunt Corona business. And now ya boy got himself a summer job, so updates might be a little slow.
> 
> Anyway, this update was a little shorter than I would have liked, but my brain just couldn't come up with anything to add to this, so here ya go!
> 
> Hope ya enjoy, peace!

Like they had agreed, they set out before sunrise. Varric had grumbled and grouched at first over the lack of mounts and having to go on foot, but when offered to ride Obsidian he quickly shut up.

So for the first two days, they traveled in relative silence, an _awkward_ relative silence.

An awkward silence which caused his scales to crawl; made him feel like insects skittered under his skin; made him contemplate for a second if those stories about those flesh-eating leeches in Coldharbour never leaving your body once your infected that madman pet of Sheogorath spouted and complained about when adequately drunk were true. Good thing he had never gotten infected.

Malik’s only saving grace from descending deeper into madness had been the not so occasional banter between Varric and Cassandra. While he hadn’t really listened to what they were saying, given he wasn't looking to steal from them, the background noise had soothed some of his nerves to the point he had enough self-control to not shoot a fireball at every snapped twig—

“By the Maker dwarf! Again?”

Malik stopped in his tracks, the fingers of his magic dominant hand twitching as he and Solas turned to look behind them to watch a very irritated looking Cassandra glaring at Varric, the scouts behind them glancing between the two of them, their faces twisted in confusion.

“When a man has to go, he has to go, Seeker!” Varric shot back, breaking from the group and making a beeline for the woods.

“I have my eye on you, Varric,” The woman warned with a growl.

“Well,” Varric laughed over his shoulder. “That just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!” He spoke as he disappeared into the bushes.

“Are they always going to be like this?” Malik questioned one scout next to him, receiving only an apologetic shrug from the woman in response. He needed to learn her name if they were going through with this ‘closing a Daedric gate’ thing.

“Is there a problem Herald?” Cassandra questioned, directing her glare at him now.

“None at this moment, aside from the big one in the sky.” Malik shrugged while he bit his lip at the name, nodding his head in the vague direction of the said glowing green problem to distract himself from how hollow that title made him feel. “But you argue so much, one assumes you two to be a married couple.” Malik couldn’t help but smirk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I—” Cassandra sputtered, cheeks growing an amusing shade of pink. “We are _not_! There is no attraction between us!”

“I mentioned nothing about being attracted to someone, shield maiden,” Malik replied, resting his hand on his hip while listening as Solas chuckled softly next to him.

“Aww, now that hurts, seeker.” They turned to watch Varric as he came back from the bushes. “Right here.” He pressed a thumb against his chest, grinning and chuckling, his amusement growing as Cassandra’s cheeks reddened by the second.

The Argonian shook his head as the two started bickering again, patting Obsidian’s armored head, before following Solas and the scouts down the road they were traveling.

—At least it kept the beast distracted enough to not tear at his flesh for freedom.

The sun was setting behind the horizon when they found a good and secluded area to make camp. Varric and Malik had volunteered to go hunt, returning not long after with a doe slung over Malik’s shoulder, already field dressed and ready to cook. The scouts had quickly taken the deer to make their dinner, despite Malik’s insistence that he knew how to cook, citing something about him already doing enough.

Probably just scared he’d poison them or something like that; they were Nords, after all.

Malik settled down on the ground next to Varric with a long exhale, Obsidian plopping down to rest his head in Malik’s lap soon after. “Hold on,” Malik muttered when Obsidian lifted his head, trying to nip at his fingers as the man took off the heavy helmet resting on the cat’s head, lightly dropping it down next to his bag.

“So, Solas,” Cassandra started, gaining everyone’s attention where she sat on a felled log. “You never told us what you were doing at the Conclave.” There was a silent question on her lips, one which had Malik frowning behind his helmet. _‘Let the interrogation begin’_ he thought bitterly.

“Truly?” The elf questioned, a look of surprise on his features — but Malik’s gut claimed it to be fake, face a little too animated, his body a little too stiff — “It must have slipped mind, considering the current events.” The elf bowed his head slightly. “I was merely curious.”

“About what?” Malik questioned absentmindedly as he pulled out a long piece of white bone and a knife, forged from the same material as his armor, out of the bag.

“The Conclave was meant to be a bridge between the Templars and Mages. A possibility for peace.” Solas answered him, not lying, but avoiding to answer fully. “Were you not brought here by the same curiosity as I? To see if they could really achieve this peace?”

Malik stilled, blade stuck in the middle of carving a general shape of an animal. “Was I brought here because of my foolish curiosity? Quite possibly.” He mused to himself, tense fingers holding the blade with an iron grip as he carved out a long snout and nose. “Did I come here to hear about two opposing sides yelling at one another like children?” He gave a low chuckle, felt it rumble in his chest, but it felt hollow — that fire got extinguished a long time ago — and that just made the gnawing feeling in his chest worse. “Definitely not.”

“Then what were you doing at the Conclave?” Cassandra furrowed her brows, resting her hands on her knees.

“I do not remember.” He answered plainly, wincing internally when it came out too quickly, felt too practiced to be genuine to his own ears.

But the human seemed to have missed what he heard so plainly.

“You remember anything _before_ that, Scales?” Varric asked as Obsidian rumbled a low purr, rubbing his massive head against Malik’s stomach armor.

Malik bit his lip in thought, carefully carving two perked ears into the bone. “The people I was working with had gotten paid to...ah, _acquire_ a certain object—“

“You were there to steal!” Cassandra accused him, glaring down at him with a scowl like an angered Nocturnal.

“I did not say that,” Malik answered without looking up, forcing himself to appear calm as can be. “I doubt this Conclave had what they had paid me to find, but if they _had_ had it, I would have most likely compensated them for said object.” He did his best to explain, the tip of his knife scratching out the general shape of the eyes.

“So you’re what? A merchant?” Varric questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Malik pursed his lips, “Something like that.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Although, I prefer ‘collector’ rather than ‘merchant’.”

“A collector of what, if you do not mind me asking?” Solas inquired further.

“Magical trinkets, enchanted objects, Daedric artifacts.” Malik counted off, lightly scratching at the bone with the blade. “General rule is, if it shouldn’t be in the hands of someone who would use it to cause harm, I try my best to find and get my hands on it.”

“What’s a ‘Daedric artifact’, ser?” A scout, the same one from before, asked carefully — like she was trying not to offend him. Her helmet rested in her lap as she brushed her red hair out of her face. Looked like an Imperial to him, maybe a bit of Nord thrown into the mix.

Malik retracted the knife and paused, looking down at the animal he had carved into the bone — a wolf, with only one eye, stared back at him, ears perked, lips pulled back over sharp teeth in a snarl, matted fur parted by scars; looked ready to hunt down its prey.

“An artifact made by a Daedric prince.” Malik sighed and chucked the piece of bone into the fire, before reaching for his bag. “I can show you if you wish.” 

* * *

Solas perked up, watching the creature reach into its bag. At a sideways glance, he saw the scout perk up too, albeit a lot more noticeably, almost child-like.

He had sensed something powerful in the creatures’ bag, more powerful than the enchantment on its’ armor, which still baffled both him and Knowledge. So he sat quietly and watched the creature pull out a black crystal star, held together by pieces of metal. It looked a little like Chantry sun iconography, but he could feel the magic radiating from it as soon as it had pulled it out.

“This,” The creature proclaimed, holding it up. “Is the Black Star of Azura.” It looked at Cassandra who was just readying to open her mouth and speak, “And before you say anything — no, it is not dangerous.”

Solas had never heard of this Azura, neither in any text nor in the Fade. The troubling part was, the magic felt old, almost Elven, definitely a foci point, but it was almost like they corrupted it, bastardized it into something it was not.

Solar bit his lip. If this was anything like the orb that magister obtained, he would need to plan another way around this problem.

“What does it do?” Varric asked, before continuing in a dry tone. “Aside from look like a necromancer’s plaything.”

“It is an infinite soul gem.” The creature explained, holding it closer to itself. “Used to enchant and recharge the enchantments on items.”

“And how does it work?” He asked, “I know runes are used to enhance the abilities of weapons and armor.”

“Well… ah-” The creature hummed. “Suppose it would be easier to just show you.” Solas felt his eyes widen as he watched the object glow a muted black before magic poured out of it into the armor. He watched a spiderweb of electricity, almost the same as a Pride Demon would use, stretch across the metal, disappearing when the magic stopped flowing.

Varric whistled low, “That thing must be worth a fortune.”

The creature chuckled, putting the star back into its bag before Solas had a chance to ask for a look at it. “Was a pain in the arse to obtain too.” It sighed, petting the head of the giant cat on its lap. At that point, Solas noticed an interesting ring amongst the four others that decorated each finger of the creature, one that pulsed with more magic than the others. “Is that ring another of your artifacts?” He couldn’t help himself and asked, motioning at the ring.

The creature hummed and looked down at its hand, lightly thumbing the ring. From what he could see, it was a silver ring, the head of a wolf at the front of it, with red stones for eyes. “It is.” The creature nodded its head.

Solas narrowed his eyes, the ring looked a little like the statues elves had made of him when—

He shook the thought away, focusing on the ring.

“What’s this one do?” Varric asked, leaning over to look at the ring.

“I apologize,” The creature lowered its hand. “But I gave a promise not to speak about it.” It cleared its throat. “The best I can say is that it is an artifact of the huntsman, Hircine. Do with that information what you will.”

He wanted to ask more questions, but a scout spoke up before he could get a word in, stating that they had finished cooking the deer.

All of them settled down to eat, except for the creature who just pulled out another piece of bone and began carving something all over again.

It felt like this creature got more and more perplexing by the hour. Ever since they had set out, it had claimed to have eaten only once, when out hunting with Varric, but when offered food, they would refuse and give it to a scout, or the giant feline would eat it instead of the creature. And all this time of their travel, the helmet remained firmly planted on its head — it was quickly becoming the biggest question in Haven, just what was underneath that helmet?

And when deprived of answers, the mind will make something up.

Before they set out for their journey, Solas had already heard more than enough rumors of what resided underneath the helmet, ranging from a handsome humanoid man to a monstrous creature like something out of old stories used to scare children.

Solas sighed silently as he ate. So many questions, yet so few answers. Hopefully, Wisdom had found out something about this mysterious creature.

* * *

When he slipped into the realm of dreams once again, easier this time. The scouts were out on rotation, but the creature was still carving a bone by the fire when he had excused himself to go to sleep, so for now, it dashed his plan of hopefully entering its dreams.

He traversed the Fade easily enough, broken paths warping into the library Wisdom so loved.

Speaking of the spirit, they floated from ruined bookshelf to ruined bookshelf, shuffling through tomes that looked older than they did. Solas chuckled to himself as the spirit, lost in thought, muttered to themselves once in a while. “Aneth ara, ma falon.” He spoke in greeting.

“Ah, Solas!” The old spirit jumped, then grinned and nodded their head in greeting. “I apologize for the mess.” A few books floated pass as they spoke, rearranging themselves on the shelves while others were taken out to drop into stacks around the spirit. “I’ve been busy.”

“I can see that.” Solar smiled, “Have you found out anything about...?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” The spirit frowned, floating over to him with a few books floating around them. “Time has taken its toll on these tomes.” They spoke with a frown. “And much of the information is in fragments.”

“What did you find out, my friend?” Solas questioned.

“There are some records of the dwarves fighting creatures they referred to as ‘scales ones’. Large, scaled creatures with sharp claws and enormous jaws.” A book floated over to Solas as Wisdom explained. “I believe Ghilan’main, the Halla mother, may have had something to do with these creatures coming into existence.” The spirit sighed, “But that is pure speculation, as the accounts do not give enough information about these creatures. Not have there been any accounts of them since the Tevinter Imperium came into power.”

Solas nodded his head, having listened intently to every word. “I also have something new for you to look at if you would allow it?”

The spirit chuckled, smiling warmly at him. “You always have an interesting way of piquing my curiosity.” They nodded their head in agreement.

Without anymore promoting, Solas concentrated, bending the Fade to shape the two objects he had seen the creature possessing. “Could you look in your library for anything about this?” He questioned, holding up the star and ring.

“Well, these are definitely interesting.” Wisdom hummed as they took the two objects, making them float next to their person. “This one is familiar.” The spirit held up the ring to their face to examine it closer, turning it over to look in the eyes of the wolf bust.

“How so?” Solas inquired, raising one eyebrow.

“I scarcely recall Andruil having created something similar for her hunters.” Wisdom informed before he let the objects float off to a nearby table. “To better hunt Ghilan’nains’ beasts by becoming them or something along those lines. She mostly used as a leash for the poor fool who took up her deal.” The spirit sighed a hint of sadness in their voice.

Solas suppressed a shiver. Andruil had been one of the crueler ‘Gods’ to the Elvish people, often having Ghilan’main turn them into beasts so she could hunt them for her sick amusement.

But her relics were sealed away with her, and almost all of Ghilan’nains’ foul spawn were wiped from existence. So what was this creature doing with one of her artifacts?

“Thank you for informing me, old friend.” Solas nodded his head, trying to mull over what he had found out.

“It was of no problem to me.” The spirit waved him off, before they stopped, tilting their head. “Oh, it appeared again.” The spirit hummed. “Do be careful where you tread in the Fade, something strange has been happening, and I worry for you.”

“Strange?” Solas tilted his head slightly, “How strange?”

The old spirit’s face twisted in worry, “I don’t know how to explain. Some kind of dreamer enters the fade, their dream shines for us like a beacon, and we are driven by our curiosity to get closer, but then it disappears before most of us can get closer.”

Solas furrowed his brows, “How long has this been happening? Has a spirit tried to enter their dream?”

“It started about a week ago.” The spirit answered. “I believe a demon had tried to enter the dream, but they were destroyed soon after.”

This was troubling, really troubling.

“Thank you for informing me, Wisdom.” Solas nodded his head, “Stay safe then, ma falon.”

The spirit nodded and floated off to sort through ancient tomes once more, becoming so absorbed by it all in a matter of moments. Solas smiled before he went on his way. This account was worrisome, and it was best if he checked it out.

Like Wisdom had said, it wasn’t difficult to find this dreamer. They shined like a beacon, yet strangely their dream was open, unguarded, unlike the dreams of many mages who put locks on their minds to keep the spirits out. But there was something about it, something off, something that made it feel like it was a trap.

Intruiged, Solas came closer.

He could see a few spirits skirting around the dream, yet not daring to get too close. Wisdom, Valor, Cunning, Compassion, and Command were some of the few spirits he could recognize this close, Rage and Duty seemed to mingle together, the two typically opposite spirits having been drawn to this dreamer now calmly floated side by side, peering into the world of the dreamer.

Strange, incredibly strange.

Solas entered the dream, stumbling slightly. His eyes grew wide as he was greeted by an expansive forest, trees stretched tall into the sky as far as he could see, the foliage so thick it only let a few scarce beams of a red light trough. Further, somewhere in the distance, he could see some sort of glowing dome, like it was a dream inside a dream.

Furrowing his brows, Solas took a few steps closer, his feet gliding through the soft grass blanketed by a heavy fog. What an odd dream.

Solas jumped when he heard a loud howl echo all around him, he turned his head, but whichever way he looked, the forest looked the same. Something in the trees caught his eye, and he turned around to see a demon of Pride burst through the trees with a loud roar, but it sounded pained.

Solas readied to defend himself, but before he could even do anything a loud growl echoed behind the demon. And Solas could only watch as the demon was knocked down, a giant wolf spirit descending on it without a second thought, _devouring_ it without a second thought.

Solas took a step back, and the spirit looked up, glaring and growling. “Be calm, friend.” Solas calmed it, raising a non-threatening hand.

Behind the red wolf, he could see the dome pulse and expand. It was _growing_ , getting bigger and bigger with each step the wolf took.

But the spirit just growled, crouched low to the ground it advanced towards him. And it wasn’t stopping.

The trees behind it slowly melted into nothingness, the leaves parting to reveal two blood-red moons shining in the pitch-black sky. The ground shook in tune with a heartbeat, or like it was a Titan, drawing breath in and out, shaking the world.

Solas narrowed his eyes, as he slowly backed away, keeping eye contact with the spirit. “I am of no threat to you.” He spoke softly,

He was close to the border of this dream, but the wolf just advanced, the dome behind it expanding, swallowing up the forest, leaving little room.

But the spirit just snarled and charged at him. He got ready to defend himself, but before he even could the wolf and dream disappeared beneath his feet.

And he was back in the Fade.

* * *

Malik’s eye snapped open, his body jerking up slightly from where it laid against a tree.

— A low _ticking_ rang in his ears —

— A dull pain _pounded_ his skull —

— An intense _hunger_ tore at his chest —

— A beast _earned_ for freedom —

He breathed in, felt his lungs press against his ribcage. And concentrated on his surroundings.

Soon the ticking was drowned out by the crackle of a fire, the calming song of the crickets, the occasional cling-clang of armor as the scouts did their rounds,

Varric’s loud snoring.

He breathed out slowly, felt his hand tremble as he rested it on Obsidian’s back.

He looked down as the cat rumbled in his sleep, snuggling closer into his lap to the point Malik was using him as a damn blanket. A low smile stretched across his lips, running his armored hand along the burned magma like skin he looked up.

It was still dark, maybe one or two in the morning, the fire had died down, yet it was still flickering brightly, near the outskirts of their camp, he could see some scouts standing watch.

He brought his other hand up, eye zeroing in on the ring.

The crimson eyes of the silver wolf seemed to glow with an unnatural red, almost like the fires of Oblivion were staring back at him.

He sighed, and put his hand back down on the cold ground, tangling the grass between his fingers as he tried to relax against the tree. He raised his head to stare at the stars, trying not to pay attention to how the beast inside of him earned for freedom.

Biting down the growl, he shuffled a bit to get a more comfortable position against the tree and stared up at the stars.

This was going to be a _long_ journey.


	7. They told me to help people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the first thing I did was kill soldiers.

_15th of Last Seed, 205 of the fifth era?_

_Why did I agree to this?_

_From what I can gather, no one knows of the Daedric Princes around these parts, not enough to recognize an artifact at least. In hindsight, I was a fool to show it to them, and an even bigger fool to withhold information. No doubt they will try to find out more about it...Joy._

_Should probably burn this journal too, got too much information about Tamriel in here, but I'll keep it, for now, might be able to figure out how to get back to Skyrim if I read about some of my other misadventures. Doubt they can figure out what I wrote; not many people can tell the difference between Falmer, Dwemer, Daedric, and a dialect of some remote Argonian blood God cult. Not to mention the communication spell doesn't work for written language._

_And the elf, Solas, attempted to enter my dream. That’s the only logical conclusion I can come up with why he has been looking at me like a rabbit at a wolf. Must have been quite a surprise, the look on his face almost makes it worth the beast clawing at my insides. But the beast doesn't like the look in his eyes. Something about Solas feels wrong. Probably good to keep my distance._

_If I knew what would be waiting for me a year after the shit-show with the Vigilance of Stendarr, I would have happily stayed in Coldharbour, even if it would have to take up the mantle of Molag Bal's champion beast._

_̷W̷h̷e̷r̷e̷ ̷I̷ ̷b̷e̷l̷o̷n̷g̷._

_I hate this. Hopefully, this will be over and done with soon. But something tells me this will be anything but easy._

_Great…_

It was around midday when the group finally met up with Leliana’s scout group. Cassandra had practically made a beeline to one scout, while Solas and Varric exchanged a few words now that they had some time to themselves. Malik watched the scouts receive their orders and start unpacking their bags. Others were sharpening swords or preparing potions, bringing in logs for the fire, or training with their fellows. The sight of the camp reminded him too much of those of the Stormcloaks and Imperials, minus the frigid weather and occasional hanging corpse of whatever poor fool of the opposing side had strayed too far from their pack.

A black cloud of smoke reinforced the image, rising in the distance from the valley below.

Malik tentatively wandered over to the cliff overlooking the valley, stopping just on the edge. He cast a spell, and his helmet shimmered out of existence, letting this world see the face of a beast turned savior for a scant few seconds.

His eye swept across the land, so similar to Skyrim yet so very different, noting how the burning houses fed the black cloud of smoke as it traveled across the sky, stretching far and wide like the wings of a Dovah — as if Alduin himself had returned from the dead to set the world aflame. The sight felt like a stab through the chest with a poisoned dagger, and the howling wind laughed at him, hitting him in the face with the scent of death as if to mock his childish hope of escaping war and conflict.

“Evgir unslaad,” Malik muttered under his breath, lightly massaging the bridge between his eyes. His head was beginning to hurt again, not from the magic of his eyepatch worming itself into his brain, but from the sheer dread he felt looking at the valley below, just now coming to grips with the situation that _he_ would have to try and fix the mess others caused. Again! “Dreh hi mindol mu fen alun siiv drem, dii fahdon?” He questioned, his hand moving down to pet Obsidian's armored head.

The cat grumbled and nibbled his fingers.

Malik chuckled, the corners of his lips curling up over sharp teeth in a slight smile. “Guess not, hmm?” He curled his fingers around the earholes of the helmet, making the cat purr and rub against his leg with a simple brush of a tender spot behind the ear. His gaze drifted back to the valley, his traitorous mind echoing the words Molag Bal had spoken last time they met — **_'You will never escape this'_**

Those words rang so loud in his ears as if the Daedra was right behind him; But he knew better, knew that Molag Bal couldn't enter this realm, knew that Molag Bal couldn't touch him here. But oh— that didn't stop his mind from remembering the self-satisfied smirk the Daedra had worn, so assured of itself despite Malik coming on out on top of their dual in the Daedra's realm, brandishing its words like a mace to torment Malik further, for no one escaped Coldharbour without feeling the sting of its icy blade...

Obsidian perked his ears, and Malik tilted his head, listening to the soft footsteps as someone walked towards him. He breathed in deep, counting in his head to five as the spell finally ran out, and the word was once again left to know him only for the visage of his Daedric armor.

"Ser." He hummed at the sound of the young woman's voice, turning to face the young red-haired scout he had been traveling with.

"Yes?" He questioned, "Is there a problem?" He titled his head slightly, gently patting Obsidian's head.

"Not exactly." She spoke, tilting her head in such a way to look him in the eye, he was certain he heard her neck creak. "Scout Harding just returned with a few others." She explained. "Lady Cassandra sent for you, says she wants you to be present for the debriefing." She waved her hand, motioning to his traveling companions behind her.

Malik nodded his head, stopping to pet Obsidian to grasp the handle on the cat's harness. "Before I do that." He began, suddenly realizing that he still didn't know her name. "Might I ask for your name?" He asked, extending his other hand to her. "I am Malik. Malik Nagtus"

She looked down at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, before looking back up at him with eyes bigger than cheese wheels, like a deer when it spotted a wolf. A second later, a big grin spread across her features. "Aye ser," She grasped his hand, her palm and fingers so small in comparison to him that she had to grab it with both hands just for it to qualify as a handshake. Yet her grip was firm and strong, Aela would have liked this one. "Anora Thordsdaughter." She introduced herself, eyes so wide and trusting. "Nice to finally be introduced, Malik."

It...

It struck a chord in him.

No one had spoken his name like that since he was a child when he and Endrane would sneak off to play or steal sweets when Malik's master wasn't looking. But ever since... _that_ incident — no one had used his name without lacing it with venom or giving him a different one when he chose not to give them his. Not even his children had spoken it with as much trust, even if they did know him by a different name, until —

But a different part of him was suspicious, wondering if the same light would still shine in her eyes if she were to find out what his name meant, how many dark elves he had to slaughter, how many and families he had to burn, to get such a name like 'Nagtus'.

"Same here." He said, shaking away those thoughts before they managed to get ahead of him and make him look like a fool. "Thank you for informing me Anora." He nodded his head, before walking past her, the sabercat obediently trailing by his side as they made their way over to his traveling companions, who were busy listening to a dwarf woman he didn't recognize.

"Herald of Andraste!" The woman exclaimed in hidden excitement when he was in earshot, using that new name that still somehow made him feel more awful than if she had called him 'orphan maker'. "I've heard the stories..." She trailed on, her eyes looking him up and down like he was some sort of new curiosity in that Dragonborn museum he helped fill up with whatever dusty old urn and replica artifact he got his hands on.

He supposed it was true for these people. He _was_ an oddity here, seeing as no Argonians existed on this land.

"Feels like everyone not living under a rock has heard some version of the tale." He grumbled to himself, briefly wondering why he couldn't just cut and run. He kept his gaze on her, sneakily looking at the trees behind her, the beast inside earning to run free, not like they could ever catch him either. But was he really going to indulge his cowardice today?

He...

No — he was too deep in this, might as well see it through to the end before growing fur and running like there was a fire under his ass.

"We know what you did at the Breach." The woman finally seemed to have snapped out of her shock. Malik watched as determination sparked up like a flame in her eyes, her face shifting ever so slightly into seriousness even when embarrassment dusted her cheeks a light pink. "It's an honor to meet you, my lord." She added, bowing her head slightly.

Malik felt the scales on the nape of his neck bristle at the title, he bit his cheek, fingers subconsciously gripping the handle even tighter as the thought to run reared up its ugly head once more. "There's no need for titles." He sighed, waving away her confusion. "Malik works just fine for me." He gestured to himself before dropping his hand back down to his side.

"Inquisition scout Harding, at your service." She introduced herself, though Malik already knew that. Yet he found it slightly amusing how her eyes widened in shock the same way Anora's had.

Was it so unheard of here, to refer to someone, not by their title or military post, but by a simple name? The Companions had used his name interchangeably with Harbinger, only those that had survived Astrid's betrayal used his name in the Brotherhood, and the mages had all but forgotten it in favor of Arch-Mage. The thieves had been the most understanding about his distaste, only to him by title when they had severely fucked up and he had to discipline them. But even then, when most had completed their runs and the sun was a few hours away from rising, they would sit down with him for a mead bottle, or 50, and it would be _his_ name that fell from their lips; Not Guildmaster, not Harbinger, not Listener, just...Malik.

Cassandra's disgusted grunt pulled him out of his thoughts, making him reign them in before they were able to make him into madness and self-loathing. He glanced at his companions noting how Varric smirked sheepishly at Cassandra's grimace and Solas' disappointed look. Taking a glance back at Harding to see her confused expression, Malik had to guess that Varric had attempted a joke...that fell flat off the Throat of the world and landed right on its metaphorical face in some horse shit.

Now that's a mental image.

"The war smoke looms over your land like Alduin." He noted, motioning to the distant wall of black smoke as it rose further into the sky, hoping it would bring them back on track. "What has happened down there?"

"The situation is more," Harding explained, looking back up at him, and Malik had to hold back the urge to lean down or kneel to be closer face to face with her; It would have shortened the distance between them, and both of their necks would have thanked them for it, sure, but the last time he did that, he got punched where no man wants to get punched, by a very pissed off Reikling at that, he wasn't about to try it again, no matter how much his neck complained about the current issue.

"We came to secure horses from Redcliffe's old horse master." She spoke, "I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet's herds were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks." Horses — those were good, any startup village needed them, which was, in Malik's humble opinion, what Haven was; a start-up a village full of refugees and priests. Not the ideal population one wanted, but by far not the worst what he had even had to work with. "But with the Mage-Templar fighting getting worse, we couldn't get to Dennet." Of course, because anything else would have made his life easier, and no Divine in this land wanted _that_ to happen. "Maker only knows if he's still alive." Harding's words were filled with guilt, Malik had to guess she had known his well, or maybe she was just guilty about everything.

Gods knew he didn't blame her for it.

"What about the priestess, Giselle, I think her name was?" He questioned, voice taking on a softer tone than it had been previously. Even the beast was soothed for the moment, pacified into peace by shared pain. "Were you able to find her?"S

"She's at the crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded," Harding said, motioning towards the valley. "Our latest reports say the war's spread there too," Harding explained, a sad look in her eyes.

Malik couldn't help to stop the chuckle that left his lips. "Looks like not _all_ your priests are worthless." He shook his head, waving off the mean look Cassandra gave him. "Anything else I should know?" He questioned.

Harding nodded, "Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won't be able to hold out very long." The guilt in her voice was strong, maybe not as prominent to the average man, but nothing about Malik was average, and he could hear it clear as day.

It reminded him of the countless soldiers he met when the Second Great War came — how he had warned them of the things to come; how he had let them use his shoulder to cry on when their loved ones passed away in the crossfire; how he had given them one last honorable fight when the guilt had nearly eaten him whole.

And he would sooner prostrate himself before Molag Bal than let _that_ happen again.

He felt the beast inside him stir — beatifically stupid as it earned for blood and flesh, hungering for the thrill of hunting those that displeased Malik, without never wondering if it wants were it's own. "Then we better get going." He spoke and turned on his heel, walking back down the path with Obsidian hot on his heels.

* * *

The four looked at each other, a silent question hanging openly in the air — _what had just happened?_

And Solas wanted to ask so many questions about Malik's sudden displeasure, yet he wasn't fast enough as Malik was already gone. Varric just shrugged and followed after the called mad, with himself and Cassandra following close behind him.

"What's got your knickers in a bunch, Scales?" Varric asked, huffing like a workhorse after a full spring of season of work, trying desperately to catch up when he had to take 5 steps for 1 of Malik's. Had the situation not been so dire, Solas would have found the sight quite hilarious.

"I despise war." Was all Malik said to explain his sudden change of mood, forcing himself to slow down and save Varric the work-out induced heart attack. "I abhor it." He sneered, and Solas was certain a bit of hot air escaped his nose, in the same way in the same way a dragon would; like a beast hungry for blood, without anything in sight to maim. It gave even more credence to Knowledge's idea about the Scaled ones.

"Did your people not wage wars also?" He asked, coming up on Malik's left, while Cassandra joined Varric on his right.

"Against their oppressors, sure," Malik growled, but the sound turned into a hiss mid-way through. "Against each other? Not in a million years. Not on this scale at the very least." Malik sneered, his anger flaring because of a reason Solas could sympathize with.

"Oppressors?" Cassandra repeated the word, yet it rang hollow; the echo of it speaking of a longer and deeper question than the woman wished to voice. Yet Soals knew enough of her to know she was not blind to the plight of the mages, the way some Seekers and Templars chose to treat mages — how some chose were treated worse than war prisoners, but those were individual cases, to enslave an entire species was beyond that...

Not even the Evanuris had attempted that, so proud they boasted about their power, yet scared of being overthrown to even attempt what Malik was insinuating.

"Your people were..slaves?" Varric tentatively asked, unsure how to the subject. If what he wrote in his books were true, it was a touchy subject, seeing as his best friend's lover had been a slave infused with Lyrium tattoos.

Malik snorted a low sound that vibrated in his chest. "Tell anyone who's ever drank hist sap that I am part of Argonian society and they'll drown you in a pond." He said, voice coming out in a lighter tone as if life was a game that he found a way to cheat at, to bend the rules in such a way that no one else could give him problems for.

But he avoided the question.

And any time Solas would have tried to get more information out of him, but now Malik felt less like a man and more like a wounded beast, and poking him with the metaphorical stick didn't seem like such a good idea. "What do you know about the two sides?" Malik asked them, "Weaknesses, strengths?" He added, turning his head to look at Cassandra.

"The Templars can stop a mage from using magic with some of their more powerful attacks." Cassandra informed, "Range is their weakness, but they compensate with heavy armor for that." They were getting closer, the distant sound of clashing swords and roaring flames growing louder.

"And the Apostate mages have magic, as we all can assume," Varric added, trying to keep up as Malik once again increased his speed, the familiar sound of fighting growing louder.

"But get in close and they have some problems," Malik added with a nod of his head. "That means Solas is at a disadvantaged." He hummed, seemingly ignoring the fact that he also used magic. They were getting closer too, and Cassandra was already pulling out her shield.

"Templars and mages fighting, with innocent people caught in the crossfire." Varric sighed, pulling out Bianca. "Somethings never change."

"What are you thinking Malik?" Solas asked as they stopped on a small hill, watching the fighting before them. Some inquisition soldiers were trying to defend the people stuck between the warring sides.

"We split up." He said simply. "Cassandra, Solas, go after the mages." He instructed, gesturing towards the men and women who were slinging spells. "I and Varric will take care of the Templars." He turned to them, and Solas was treated to a new face of this strange being — a commander, taking action before everyone else, his voice so self-assured and certain that a soldier would have walked off a cliff if he ordered them to. "Is that good with you?" He asked, unsheathing his sword from his hip.

"Fine with me." Varric shrugged, and Cassandra nodded along with that. "But won't you-"

"Good, " Malik nodded his head, cutting off whatever Varric wanted to say. "Try not to die." He chucked, and with that, he was off, the fiery cat got on his heel as they ran towards the battle like beasts out of a horrible afterlife.

"Aaaaaaand he's gone." Varric groaned and ran after him.

* * *

Varric ran as fast as he could, arriving just in time to see Malik fling the body of a Templar into a wall, a trail of smoke rising from the sizzling hole in his chest. Malik laughed like a madman, not even caring that he was outnumbered 15 to 2. "Come at me cowards!" He goaded them on, his giant cat roaring along with him.

The Templars were stunned only for a second before they all advanced on Malik, and Varric wasn't even in range to lay down cover fire. _'Idiots the lot of us'_ he cursed them both in his mind. He scrambled as fast as he could while 3 Templars tried to kill Malik.

But the man simply sidestepped, diverting the two swords with a downward strike without breaking a sweat, shooting out his hand to grab one by the neck. The man screamed as his hand burst into flame, but it died down into a garbled screech as his throat was liquified; sizzling and smoking, the wind casting the smell of burning flesh through the battlefield.

Obsidian took the opportunity of shock and lunged at the other one, bringing him down and hitting his head off without wasting a second. The third Templar's shock was his downfall, as a swift sword strike cleaved his head right off his shoulders. Two more tried to come up behind Malik, but he responded by throwing the body of their comrade at them, bringing both of them from the weight of the corpse.

_That's five._

Varric had finally got into range and aimed his shot as Malik blocked an attack, firing at a Templar on Malik's left. The arrow whizzed past him and the man didn't even flinch as it hit the Templar in the, jumping back and whirling around, his tail hitting his previous attacker in the face as he slammed a glowing hand into a Templar's face, a large shard of ice shooting out on the other side of his helmet. The one behind him staggered back, clutching his face and not even paying attention until Obsidian had brought him to the ground and torn at his throat.

"I've had more entertaining sport from killing skeevers, you wouldn't even entertain draugr!" Malik laughed once more, jumping over the corpse to slam his full weight onto the head of one Templar, his claw sliding through the eyeslit in the helmet and most likely puncturing the eye. He roared as he slammed his sword through the throat of the other Templar, the neck wound spraying blood on him in an arc as both men screamed on pain.

_That's 10_

"Cover me!" One templar yelled, and Varric cursed as he released the Templar was preparing a Smite. But Malik was already engaging with another one and Obsidian was in the mids of tearing another's throat.

Varric cursed and aimed Bianca, firing a bolt at the Templar. The bolt whizzed through the air in an arc, hitting the Templar in the space between shoulder and breastplate. But it was already too late, the sword came down to rake across Malik's back, sending sparks flying as metal clashed with metal, but the glowing lyrium infused sword prevailed against the enchanted armor.

But to Varric's surprise, the sword didn't cleave Malik in half, cutting into the muscle deep enough to spray the Templar in green blood. Malik stumbled, snarling like a beast as he slammed into the Templar in front of him, managing to block the sword as the Templar tried to shove it into his throat.

Then something strange happened.

" **Fus Roh Dah!"** The ground rumbled softly with power Varric had never felt before, and he watched as the Templar stumbled back, heaving up blood in large spurts. Varric looked closer, and he noticed that the chest was caved in with the armor having done nothing to protect the man.

Malik stumbled to his feet, coughing and clutching his throat. "What the fuck?" He heard Malik question, his hand sparking with Fade magic the same way it had when he had first met him. Varric cocked back another bolt, shooting it straight through the neck of a Templar as he tried to sneak up on Malik while the man coughed.

Malik whirled around, throwing his sword at a Templar that thought he could sneak up on Obsidian. "Obsidian, Dein!" Varric heard Malik snarl, and to the dwarf's shock, Malik's arms burst into flame, something that _never_ happened when a mage was hit with a smite.

The burning cat circled him as Malik charged his spell, fire crawling up his arms up to his entire body. Varric cocked back another bolt, there's seemed to be no need for it; the Templars were too shocked by Malik using magic after a smite to try and attack him.

Which was all Malik needed.

He spread his arms wide, fire crackling across his entire body, and laughed, giving Varric bad memories of Blondie when he blew up the Chantry. Only that man was possessed by a corrupted spirit, and Malik...didn't, as far as Varric knew.

Then he slammed his arm down—

The ground trembled as everything around Malik exploded in a ball of blinding flame. Varric threw a hand over his eyes, twisting to hide his face in his shoulder. Sweat formed on his brow as the heat hit him head-on like a charging qunari, hotter than a forge, yet not burning him. He didn't even want to imagine what the Templars felt being so close to Malik. He doubled any of them lived after that, no one at the Chantry had.

The smell of burning human flesh confirmed what he thought and as he lowered his hand, all he could see was a burnt field, the fire still crackling on the Templar corpses, charred black with smoke rising from their bodies — shit, even their armor had been melted away. And in the middle of all that carnage stood Malik, without a single scratch on him, looming over the field with his fiery car like some arch-demon.

Shit, this was on par with Blondie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evgird Unslaad - season unending.  
> Dreh hi mindol mu fen alun siiv drem, dii fahdon? - do you think we will ever find peace, my friend?  
> Dren- guard.
> 
> Been a while eh peeps? Long story short, depression is a bitch, but now ya boy's got some new meds and I'm back to writing. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all your comments, y'all put the wind back into my sails for continuing to write this fanfic!
> 
> Hope ya enjoyed this chapter, peace!


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